Mind and Vision
by InSilva
Summary: Early Danny in "Body and Soul" verse. In progress.
1. Introductions

Mind and Vision by InSilva

Disclaimer: oh, I don't own Danny.

Summary: early Danny in "Body and Soul" verse.

A/N: yet another fic on the go? Well, this makes complete sense, doesn't it? :) This is (probably) going to be a lot shorter than "Body and Soul". But I just felt it was needed. Not by you, the reader, maybe, I'll grant you. But definitely by me.

Chapter One: Introductions

* * *

The first time Danny saw someone lift a wallet was at his cousin Cynthia's wedding reception.

He was sat underneath a table with a large plate of buffet contraband. One wedding guest had remarked loudly to another that she considered it vulgar not to have a sit down meal at the reception but Danny didn't mind so much. He had managed to secure several intricate things on sticks, some fancy sandwiches and a host of sticky, sweet stuff that he wasn't too sure about but was willing to try in order to have an opinion.

The tablecloth in front of him was arranged into scalloped drapes and he was delighted to have found what was firstly a sanctuary from Abigail, Cynthia's sister, the nine-year-old bridesmaid, who seemed to think her seven and three-quarter-year-old cousin was fair game; secondly, it hid him from his mother and her insistence on cleaning his face with her own spit (and what was that about?); thirdly, it afforded him an excellent view of the room.

Little groups of giggly, young women and smiling, young men; elderly women nodding wisely at each other; older men with drinks in one hand and cigars in the other.

Then, Danny saw him. A man in a tux with dark hair and the twinkling eyes and the charming smile. Something made Danny watch him as he span from one group to the next. It was like a dance and it twice brought him closer to Danny.

"_You're with the groom? Ah, I'm the second cousin of the bride. Yes, she is a beautiful girl_…"

The second time, he was an old friend of the groom. It made Danny take even more notice of the man. Food forgotten, he watched the man exchange groups expertly. And then he saw the lift. A casual bump, an apology and the man's fingers had lightly delved into the jacket of another and come away with property that was not his.

Dumbstruck, Danny saw it happen again and again and then the man was heading out of the room and away and Danny was spurred into action. He scrambled out from underneath the table and chased after the man. The thief (Danny had seen and heard enough cop and robber shows to know the term applied) - the thief had a headstart but Danny had the advantage only a determined seven-nearly-eight-year-old could have.

He caught up with the man just outside the main room and laid a hand on his arm.

"I saw you," he blurted out.

To the man's credit and Danny's surprise, he didn't say "What?" or deny it or anything. Instead, he pulled Danny into a room laid out with wedding presents and an elaborate cake and sat down on a chair, motioning to the one opposite.

"I'll stand," Danny said firmly.

"Well, if you must, you must," the man said lightly.

"I saw you," Danny repeated angrily.

"Oh, you got me, kid, bang to rights."

The man's eyes were twinkling and Danny flushed. Then the man smiled. An open, friendly, completely captivating smile.

"All I'm doing, kid, is evening things up a bit. You see in this world, some people have got more than others. They had more than me. Now, they don't." He shrugged. "Now, it's fair."

Danny thought this over and then frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Now, you have more than they do. So you should give it back."

"But I don't want to."

"But…you should." Danny was very certain on that point.

"But I'm not going to," the man said with a smile. "Which leaves us with what you're going to do about it. Not a squealer, are you?"

No, no, he wasn't. Not even when he'd heard his two half-brothers - who were what? Twenty? Thirty years older than he? – heard them talking about their father (_his_ father) being a soft, old fool and his mother as a – Danny knew that was a bad word. He hadn't said anything at the time. Not even to Luis and Maria. No, he wasn't a squealer.

The man was speaking again.

"I guess I'd better stay here while you go and fetch someone."

Danny nodded. That sounded like a plan. His eyes narrowed.

"You won't leave?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," the man said solemnly.

"OK, then."

And when he returned breathlessly, having dragged along the first adult he recognised who turned out to be Cole and they'd found the room with the empty chair and Cole had given him an exasperated cuff about the head, Danny had learned that men could lie as well as steal.

* * *

"He didn't even look sorry," Danny explained over a bowl of homemade soup and fresh bread.

"That's because he probably wasn't," Luis pointed out, banging his pipe out on the kitchen table and ignoring Maria's scolding look.

"But he should have been," Danny said and took another mouthful of the soup, part of him wondering why food eaten in the kitchen with Luis and Maria tasted ten times better than any meal eaten in the formal surroundings of the dining room; another part of him knew the answer to that one.

Luis filled the pipe with tobacco and took his time pressing the leaf into the bowl. Danny loved the look of concentration on his face that implied there was an art to a well-lit pipe. He was also aware that the delay was related to the fact that Maria's scolding would turn verbal and possibly physical if Luis dared to light the pipe before Danny had finished eating. And since he liked both of them very much and since Luis and a pipe meant either a game of cards or a story or, if he was lucky, both, he raced through the rest of the soup.

* * *

The dishes cleared away, Luis had poured himself a whisky and reached into a dresser drawer and found the pack of cards.

"Bridge," he said to Maria before she started. "I'm teaching the boy bridge."

Bridge sounded respectable and part of a set of social skills that would be helpful in life. It was not at all what they were playing.

"Five card draw," Luis explained as Maria busied herself with the washing up and Danny nodded. They'd played this before.

"The thing is," Luis went on as he dealt the cards, pipe between his teeth, "the man had a point."

"A point?" Maria's ears were sharp. "You going to tell little Danny it's a good thing to steal?"

"The point is," and Luis glared at Maria until her lips pursed and she turned back to the sink, "that not everyone in this world is blessed equally."

Danny looked at his hand. A pair of sixes.

"I'll take three. You mean with money?"

"Money, for sure. Money is part of it. But I was thinking of other riches."

The three new cards were all Jacks. Danny's fingers tightened on the cards.

"No, no, no." Luis was smiling. "You don't give yourself away like that."

There was a short discussion on the importance of controlling any tells and then the hands were redealt and the game continued as Luis puffed on his pipe and Danny wondered if he was going to get the rest of what the point was.

Eventually Maria put the bottle of whisky down beside Luis and a cup of cocoa down beside Danny and as she poked the kitchen fire and then started in on tomorrow's vegetables, Luis started speaking again.

"I remember back in Spain when I was young, the lesson to be learned was how one should act in this life."

Felipe. Danny knew it. It was going to be a Felipe story. He sipped his cocoa and waited.

"In the little village where I grew up – I have told you about my little village, haven't I?"

Danny nodded impatiently. Luis began nearly every story like this.

"Mmm. I thought so. There were rich men and there were poor men and my family was very poor. And our neighbours were very poor, too. And their son was my best friend. His name was Felipe."

Danny inwardly mouthed the last four words along with Luis. Felipe figured often in Luis's stories. He was a year younger than Luis but that seemed to be the only difference between them. He and Luis were closer than anyone could imagine. They hid out in private little dens that only they knew about and they charmed food out of the women cooking and they skipped school and they played innumerable tricks on the people in the village and they lived a life that Danny yearned for without realising.

"Felipe and I soon came to understand in this life that some people have great heart. Great goodness of spirit. Generosity and love to spare. And they are not always the people who with the most money." Luis paused and then clarified, "They are rarely the people with the most money."

Well, that was probably true. Danny couldn't say that he felt much goodness of spirit emanating from Cole or Randall or, if it came to that, his mother and father. And they certainly all had money.

"So there are those with riches of a different kind. The haves. And there are those with physical wealth and nothing else. The have nots. Felipe and I liked to even things up occasionally."

The story went on involving the schoolteacher who was too poor to ask the prettiest girl in the village to marry him and a pig that was sold many times over in order to raise enough gold that Felipe and Luis could leave a sack of it on the poor man's bed and then watch as he woke up and cried.

The fire was dying now and Danny's eyes were closing even though he was fighting to keep them open. And Luis's pipe had gone out as he slumped further back in the chair, the bottle of whisky now three-quarters drunk, his words fewer and rambling and even though he spoke perfect English, he was now muttering in his native tongue.

"Time for bed, Danny," Maria whispered and he sighed and nodded and slipped away.

* * *

That night, Danny lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about Luis and Felipe. He knew the truth from Maria who had sighed and told him one day when he had pressed and pressed her for information and she had run out of patience.

Luis and Felipe had loved each other as brothers and friends and something so much more involving honour and a code and everything that mattered in the world. They had grown up together and they had lived alongside each other and they had enlisted at the same time and they had fought side by side in the Spanish Civil War. And Felipe had died. Young and valiant and never knowing life beyond eighteen.

Danny had cried long and hard about that. It seemed so very unfair. And it wasn't as if he was ungrateful that Luis had left Spain and come to America and met and married Maria. It wasn't as if he wasn't thankful that the pair of them had come to be in service in his household because truthfully, they were warm little parts of his world. But Danny couldn't help thinking about the pain of loving and losing and part of him wanted a happy ending that just wasn't there.


	2. Taking what is not rightfully yours

Mind and Vision by InSilva

Disclaimer: own nothing Oceany

A/N: please do not faint. Even though I very much doubt this one's remembered by many. ;)

Chapter Two: Taking what is not rightfully yours

* * *

By the age of nine, it was hard for Danny to decide which of his half-brothers he liked least. Randall rarely spoke to him and had obviously decided early on to ignore his very existence. Cole, on the other hand, who did choose to speak to him, never had anything nice to say. Yeah, it was a close run thing.

They were both perfectly obnoxious to Luis and Maria. Not in a malicious way, Danny conceded, just in their general supercilious attitude. Supercilious was a new word to him and he liked the way it fitted both Cole and Randall. Mind you, the next appropriate adjective he discovered, he was keeping to himself. Sharing it had left Randall frowning and Cole livid and it had taken a swift move to avoid the blow Cole had aimed at his ear.

Words had power. That was a lesson Mark Barlow, the young Englishman who was employed as his tutor, hadn't had to teach him. As for his actual lessons…well, some subjects in the wide curriculum took better than others. Science and technology were never going to be his forte. English, he loved. Some aspects of Maths were a struggle but he was strong in mental arithmetic and geometry was a favourite.

Friday afternoons he enjoyed most. In the summer, they sat in the formal gardens and in the winter, they sat in the study with the fire and they sipped ginger beer or cocoa and Mark threw lateral thinking puzzles at him.

"There's glass on the floor and water and Antony and Cleopatra lie dead. Explain."

Danny's mind worked his way through them and out the other side and the challenge sparked within him. He did not like to be beaten and he refused to let Mark just tell him the answer. Sometimes, the trickiest problems would last days.

Part of his education was a regular cultural trip to the city; to a museum or art gallery and that was a source of wonder in itself. Riches from around the world that brought the reference library books at home to life. Danny could lose hours drinking in the colours and the artistry and the weight of the history on show.

"I suppose we could have a bite to eat here," Mark suggested hesitantly on their first trip.

Danny looked through the window of the fast food restaurant. People sitting and talking and eating and the door swung open and the buzz of normal life escaped. He nodded vigorously.

Mark still hesitated and Danny saw him fingering the dollar bills that constituted their allowance for the trip.

"Maybe we should look for a proper restaurant," Mark said with a sigh. "I'm not certain your family would want you to-"

"Oh, but if we eat here," Danny said quickly, "then we would have so much more money to spend inside the museum. On books," he added. "And stuff."

Mark looked at him and Danny could see by the crease in Mark's forehead and the set of his jaw that Mark really wanted to be swayed.

"What would you say if your father asked you what you'd eaten?" Mark said at last.

"I'd tell him I ate beef and salad," Danny said promptly. Judging by the picture in the window, lettuce accompanied the burger. That surely had to count as salad.

"Very well," Mark smiled.

After that, it was understood that part of the trip would also involve a visit to one or other fast food restaurant where Danny would sample fried chicken or hamburger or pizza. Danny was as certain as Mark that his father would disapprove of the setting and that lent the whole experience even more of a forbidden thrill.

One visit was responsible for Danny's introduction to a lifelong love. They were supposed to be heading to the Egyptian section and the mummies but they found the museum temporarily closed.

"Fire alarm," the official on the door explained. "Come back in an hour."

Disappointed, Danny had trailed after Mark down the street that ran along the back of the museum and only narrowly avoided running into the back of him when Mark stopped short.

"That's a wonderful film," said Mark.

Danny looked up at the little cinema that was showing "The Adventures of Robin Hood".

"Errol Flynn," Mark went on. "Basil Rathbone. Olivia de Havilland. It's terrific."

"We could go and see it," Danny suggested and this time, he really didn't have to work hard to sell the idea.

The movie was as terrific as Mark had said. Staring up at the big screen, Danny marvelled at the magic on display and it was as wonderful an escape as reading books.

That night, he lay in bed and he _was_ Robin Hood. He _was_ leading his men to steal from the rich and to give to the poor. And that thought made him think (_again) _about the man in black at the wedding. And about haves and have nots. Even Hollywood agreed with Luis.

Stealing. It was fast becoming an attractive option.

* * *

Mark and he had seen "Oliver!" – the trips to the museums and galleries were now regularly interspersed with movies – and they were sitting talking about Fagin and the Artful Dodger and eating chicken with their fingers and it tasted so _good_. The restaurant was busy and Danny was caught up in the people watching. Families arguing, mothers kissing their sons and wiping ketchup off their faces, a couple sitting in the window who - judging by the handholding - _had_ to be on a first date.

Mark stepped away to the restroom and there was a girl wiping down tables. She smiled tiredly at Danny as she cleaned the table next to where he was sitting. "_Lena_" was her name according to her name badge and she looked exhausted. Danny smiled back at her and then it happened.

It happened in a hurry. A group of young boys pushed their way past Lena to get to the free table and she gave a sharp cry and disappeared on to the floor in a heap.

"While you're down there," one of them leered.

Lena got up, her face flushed and there was a chorus of wolfwhistles as she nearly ran back to the counter. There was sniggering and there was suggestion and Danny bit his lip and then his eyes fell on the back pocket of the nearest youth. The wallet was there, with notes peeking out and _inviting_ him.

It was done in a moment and Danny could feel his heart racing as the wallet sat clutched in his hands under the table. Its owner hadn't missed it. And although he waited, there was no one interfering or shouting or doing anything. No one else had seen. Or if they had seen, they hadn't cared. Slowly, Danny's heartbeat returned to normal. And as Mark returned smiling to the table, he stood up and excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

In the cubicle he counted the money. Fifteen dollars. It wasn't much to him but he knew enough about how the world worked to know it would be a lot to Lena. He climbed up on to the seat and carefully left the wallet at the back of the cistern. Then he flushed the toilet and walked out of the restroom, the bills furled up in his hand.

Lena was at the counter, loading drinks on to a tray and it was a simple thing. He picked up a paper menu with one hand and deposited the notes in her apron pocket with the other. She didn't notice a thing. And though he waited again, no one shouted at him, no hand fell on his shoulder, no voice demanded to know what he thought he was doing.

All the journey home, he smiled to himself.

* * *

It was a couple of months later and there was unusual laughter and lightness floating through the house. Maria's cousin, Estella, was staying with her for a fortnight.

Everyone appeared to have taken notice of the new arrival; in her twenties, dark hair, flashing eyes and beautiful and lighting up every room she walked through. Luis was mostly on his best behaviour, only teasing Estella a little about her forthcoming marriage. Maria was obviously fond of her and delighted to see her. Danny's mother had taken one look at the younger woman and taken to her room. Danny's father, who had agreed that Estella could visit, stared at her every time he bumped into her as if surprised to find her in the house. Randall was tongue-tied and dumbstruck in her presence. Cole looked at her with interest as she walked past, her gaze low and demure. Mark blushed every time he saw her.

Danny was simply in love.

"And who is this young man?" she had smiled as he barrelled into the kitchen and come to a halt.

"This is Danny," Maria introduced.

"Pleased to meet you," she said solemnly, shaking his hand. "My name's Estella."

"Estella," he repeated and the name itself sounded exotic and lovely.

"I'm watching Maria bake," she said. "And listening to Luis's stories."

Two of his favourite things.

"Come and join me," she invited and he scrambled up on the stool next to her and listened to her laughter, natural and infectious, that flew into his heart and stayed there.

The conversation was around her wedding and the dress and her fiancé, Carlo. Carlo was apparently handsome and strong and kind and rich.

"Good," Danny approved without thinking as Estella described him and Luis smiled.

"Will he do?" Luis asked, amusement in his voice and Danny flushed.

Estella looked at him kindly.

"If he jilts me," she asked, "maybe you'd-"

"-oh, I _would,_" he assured her earnestly and they all smiled.

* * *

Arms full of shopping, Maria and Estella came laughing through the door and neatly danced to avoid Mark and Danny standing in the hall.

"You look like you've had a successful trip," Mark said, standing a little taller, a little straighter.

"Too successful," Maria suggested, swinging the bags.

"Very successful." Estella's eyes were dancing. "I found some very pretty things."

They couldn't be as pretty as Estella, Danny thought and judging by the sigh in Mark's face, he obviously thought so too.

"This is a real talent you have," Maria scolded.

"For spending money?" Estella laughed. "One of my favourite pastimes."

"You like money?"

The four of them turned to see Cole on the stairs. Silence descended like a wet cloth on a fire. Cole walked down to the hall, arrogance in his every step and stood in front of them. Maria bowed her head and Estella's eyes were on the ground and Mark was nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another. Danny's jaw set and he glared at Cole. Dampening the atmosphere was something Cole specialised in.

"You've got somewhere else to be, I'm sure, Barlow."

Mark licked his lips and stuttered something about needing to get some reference material from the library and disappeared.

"Get lost," Cole muttered at Danny.

Danny stood his ground. "I'm helping." And he took a couple of bags from Estella, daring Cole to say something.

Cole dared.

"You want a hand," he murmured, leaning in to Estella, "I could always-"

"Come on, Estella," Danny interrupted, grabbing her hand. "You need to show me what you bought."

Estella let him pull her away and Maria followed and Danny threw a glance over his shoulder at Cole, frowning after them.

* * *

The next few days were special in Danny's memories. Estella spoke to him like Luis and Maria did. Like an adult. She _listened_ to him too. Like Luis did. Like Maria did. Like he mattered.

"Estella. It means "star"," Mark told him and there was a hint of dreamy wistfulness in his voice that Danny empathised with.

"Star". It suited her. Shining and wonderful and special. And she deserved something just as marvellous. Something to remember her visit (_to remember him, maybe?)._ Danny knew just what.

* * *

His mother's bedroom was a forbidden place, a holy of holies that Danny dared not enter without invitation. Except that for Estella, he would. No one was around and he took the opportunity to creep across soft carpet and to lift the lid of the jewellery box on the dressing table.

He drew out the bottom drawer and he picked up the diamond pendant that his mother had worn last Christmas day and never again. It sparkled in his fingers as they closed around it. His mother had so many necklaces, so many strings of jewels, she would never miss this one. Not for the longest of times if at all.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, sir."

Her voice was strong and there was an underlying insolence in there that Cole longed to crush. He'd been yearning to do so since she arrived and walked past him with an inappropriate haughtiness. This was her last day and his last chance.

"Yes. I wanted to see you."

Cole sat behind the desk in his father's study and let his gaze trawl over this pretty thing. Pretty. And he wanted it. Money bought everything.

He laid the cash on the desk and saw the frown.

"I want to see what you will do," he said simply.

The frown disappeared and her eyes flashed with anger. "You think you can buy me? You think I'm to be bought?"

"Everyone can be bought."

"Not me! Never me!"

"Everyone," he insisted. It was completely his experience. Money made the world go around.

"You think I am some sort of whore?" Estella spat.

He stood up and walked round the desk, grabbed the money and her bag and stuffed the notes inside.

"Take it," Cole said.

"Never!"

She upended the bag on the desk and the bundle of bills tipped out along with lipstick, a lace handkerchief, a coin purse, a compact mirror, a pen, a packet of mints and a diamond necklace that had no business being there. They both stared at it. Then Cole reached out and held it up so that it gleamed in the light.

"This is my father's wife's…" he said slowly and he looked at her face, puzzled and uncomprehending and he moved imperceptibly so that he was in between her and the door.

She blinked at him. "I…I didn't…I don't know…I…"

She didn't take it. She didn't know. Barlow, no doubt. Cole had seen the lovestruck look on the man's face. Man was a long streak of educated piss but he had fallen hard and fast. Idiot. Doubtless wanted to impress this Hispanic tart with the long legs. Doubtless wanted to give her something to remember him by. Well, so did he. And now...now, he could.

There was triumph in his eyes and she saw it and stepped back at the same time as he reached out and grabbed her arm.

"You can keep the necklace," he offered and she slapped him.

He let go of her arm and slapped her back, just as hard and fast and she let out a cry.

"My taxi's-"

"-not here yet," he said and victory was approaching.

"Please," she breathed and she was frightened and he loved the power and the control in this one moment. "Please. I'm getting married next month."

He tilted his head on one side and looked at her appraisingly. "I'm a reasonable man."

Conquest was inexorable.

* * *

"Taxi's arrived," Luis said, coming back into the hall where Estella's bags were stacked. "Where's the bride to be?"

Danny and Mark were waiting with Maria to say goodbye. Danny hoped it wouldn't be the last they saw of Estella. She was magical. Glancing up at Mark, he thought it likely that he wasn't the only one hoping.

Maria frowned. "I'm not-"

The door to the study opened and Estella walked out. Her usual sure step was shaky. Her lipstick was a little smeared. Her eyes were on the carpet. Maria moved forward and there was a string of questions in hot Spanish that had Estella shaking her head, slowly, insistently and then:

"De nada!" she exclaimed and raised her eyes and looked at Maria.

Danny saw. Saw the flushed cheeks and the tears that Estella wasn't going to let fall. Saw the pride in her eyes and the answer she wasn't giving. Maria stepped back and there was pain in her face and she closed her eyes and swayed for a moment.

Then Estella moved. She flashed a bright surface smile at Mark and she pressed her lips to Danny's forehead and Luis's cheek and hugged Maria fiercely and she was out of the door and gone.

The others trailed out after her, Luis and Mark carrying the bags, Maria clutching her arms around herself. Danny glanced at the study door. Cole was leaning in the doorway watching them go, his expression as satisfied as Danny had seen it. Danny thought for a second that he saw something twinkling in Cole's hand. Then Cole's hand disappeared into his pocket and his gaze fell on Danny and he jutted out his chin.

"You got something to say?"

More than Cole would ever listen to. Danny thought about Estella's face and he didn't know the details but he knew Cole was the reason. Cole was definitely the reason. And his hands tightened into little impotent fists.


	3. Change

Mind and Vision by InSilva

Disclaimer: don't own Danny. Like to see anyone try that.

Chapter Three: Change

* * *

It was a great day.

Alexander Lowmen had left at the start of the week and Danny was so glad to see him gone. He thought he could go cheerfully through life without ever meeting Alexander again.

Cole and Randall were off at a high-profile sporting event and not expected back to the evening and that was never a disappointment.

His mother was out shopping for something shiny or pretty and in no way practical.

His father had not come downstairs at all. Mr Lawrenson, his father's lawyer had arrived and gone upstairs but his father had not come down at all.

All this meant that Danny had the run of the house. Even so, he gravitated towards the kitchen where there was Maria's baking to be eaten and there were Luis's stories to be heard.

"I ever tell you about the time Felipe and I went to the caves up above our village?"

Yes, Luis had. The caves and the long drop down and the rope and the whisper of treasure.

"I'm not sure," Danny lied, biting into a warm, soft cookie, the chocolate melting inside his mouth. "Why don't you tell me again?"

Many Felipe stories of love and laughter and friendship. Stories that painted pictures that Danny could see, conversations that Danny could hear, happiness that he wanted.

Alongside the stories, there were many games of cards where Danny could show Luis how much attention he'd paid to all those lessons on how to deal from anywhere in the pack and the need to keep his face unfathomable.

"Muy bien, Danny," Luis smiled. "You are a clever young man."

Lunch in the kitchen – fresh bread and beef stew - and a whispered conversation between Luis and Maria that Danny noticed but didn't bother himself overly with. He was too busy enjoying the stew.

The happy day had to end.

His mother had returned and gone straight to her room and Cole and Randall had arrived back and demanded food and drink.

"Time for bed, Danny," Maria suggested, running a hand over his hair.

Danny sighed and nodded. Maybe tomorrow would be as good a day as this had been.

* * *

It wasn't.

He woke to confusion and flurry: his mother running past his door, wide-eyed and worried; Cole and Randall hurrying down the corridor, muttering together in low tones.

"What is it?" Danny asked but Randall simply wrinkled his nose at him and the glare from Cole was enough to suggest Danny would be wise not to interrupt them again.

He dressed himself and made his way down the stairs to find Maria coming up them.

"Oh, Danny," she said and her voice was full of sympathy. She folded him to her and he allowed her to embrace him though he had no clue why.

She led him down to the kitchen and Luis and over a kitchen table with a warm mug of cocoa, Danny learned that his father had passed away in the night.

* * *

Later and there were tears from his mother and public words of regret murmured by Cole and Randall and neither seemed very sincere to Danny.

Maria hugged him tightly and whispered fierce words of comfort though he didn't feel any great pain and he remained dry-eyed even through the funeral. His father had been distant and old and not bothered with him: Danny would have felt much more grief if he could have been convinced that his father remembered his existence other than on high days and holidays when convention forced everyone into the same room.

In the days that followed when he found himself down in the kitchen even more than normal, he didn't understand the worried looks that were exchanged between Luis and Maria and he didn't realise that all things that he treasured were in precarious balance because of the catalyst of his father's death.

He didn't understand the dreamy way his mother moved through the house, her fingers clutching at her jewels.

He didn't know why Cole and Randall were shooting him little smiles of triumph.

He overheard Randall saying "At last we can get rid of the little bastard-" but when he caught sight of Danny, he shut up like a clam.

Something was happening and Danny didn't know what and the anxiety raged within him.

Then there was a morning where the family congregated in a small room from which Danny was excluded. He sat in a chair outside and kicked his heels and by the time he was called into the room, his future was decided without any say from him.

Mr Lawrenson beckoned him in and he saw Cole and Randall and his mother sitting as respectfully as society would demand, surrounded by an air of self-satisfaction.

"Now, then, Danny," Mr Lawrenson said kindly. "I've explained some of this a few days ago informally to your mother and your brothers-"

"_Half-_brothers." The correction was out before Danny could stop himself and Mr Lawrenson flicked a polite but annoyed little smile.

"Half-brothers. Yes." Mr Lawrenson consulted the paperwork in front of him. "Your father has made sure that all of you are well looked after financially. Well…" he hesitated as if trying to work out whether Danny would actually understand all the details.

Danny stuck his chin out defiantly and Mr Lawrenson had continued. There was money and plenty of it. Cole and Randall were set up for life. His mother, her eyes demurely on the carpet, was never going to starve.

As for him…it was complicated. There was a trust. Danny's educational future was secure. The trust would pay for fees and an allowance up until he graduated. Once he graduated, whatever money was still held in the trust would be released and shared between him and the trustees. The trustees were his mother, Cole and Randall.

"Wish you were older," Randall muttered. "Having to wait for you to wade through high school…don't suppose you could sit your exams early…?"

Danny glared at him. "Cushing's likes its students to be well-prepared," he said stoutly and then caught sight of the sudden evasion in Randall's face.

"What is it?" he demanded but Randall was busy studying wallpaper. "Mother?" he asked uncertainly, but his mother was twisting her fingers together, a sign that she really didn't want to be part of the conversation.

Danny looked at Cole who was the only one meeting his gaze.

"You're not going to Cushing's," Cole said.

Speechless, Danny stared at him. Cushing's Academy was where his father had studied, where Cole and Randall had studied, where he was going to study.

"I've got the uniform," he whispered ridiculously and he had, he _had…_ He'd stood and been measured and kitted out and there'd been another boy – Ethan – who was also going to be new and they'd laughed together over the socks and the blazers and the ties and the adventure they were both embarking on. Danny had hoped Ethan might turn out to be a good friend.

"Don't worry about the uniform," Cole told him. "Your mother says she has the receipts."

"I'm-"

"You're not going to Cushing's," Cole said again and Danny marched over to stand in front of him.

"You don't get to decide-" he began hotly.

"Actually, I do," Cole said smoothly. "Well, _we_ do." He indicated Randall and Danny's mother. "And we've chosen an excellent preparatory school with much more reasonable fees."

He handed Danny a prospectus and Danny looked at pictures of steel and glass, a modern building a million miles away from the ivy-covered walls and extensive grounds that defined Cushing's.

"It doesn't have quite the exam success that Cushing's does," Cole went on, "but it's important to encourage these modern endeavours."

Danny hardly heard him. He was busy staring at the one salient fact on the prospectus cover.

"This is in Texas," he said flatly.

"So it is," Cole nodded.

Danny looked at him. "That's the other side of the country."

Cole shrugged. "Nothing wrong with your geography."

"But…" Incredulity was running over Danny's face like a wash of raindrops.

"This place makes provision for all vacations and it's not like you were going to be coming back here much anyway," Randall suggested.

No, but Cushing's was an hour's drive away at most. If he'd wanted to, he could get back on the bus with relative ease. And he'd have been back at _some _point and there would be Luis and Maria and Texas could have been on another planet and he'd never see them again at all and he couldn't lose Luis and Maria… He looked up at Cole and hated himself for what he was about to say.

"Please, Cole. I-I… Please, Cole."

Cole simply smiled and Danny gave up the battle and looked over at the others. Appealing to Randall was pointless but surely, surely his mother would understand. He dropped to the floor in front of her and grabbed her hands and begged her with passion and desperation.

"Please, mother, please. I've never asked for anything but please don't send me away."

His mother disentangled her hands and looked faintly disapproving as if the outburst of emotion was more than she could handle.

"I'm sure Cole knows what's best for you, Danny. Now get up before you make a hole in your clothes." She sounded more distant than ever.

Flushed, he got to his feet and he had to get out of there. He walked in a dream towards the door.

"You leave a week on Monday," Cole called after him and he _wasn't_ going to cry in front of anyone.

Alone in his room, he looked down at the prospectus and hot tears flowed.

* * *

The final horror was yet to come.

"We're realising our assets," Cole said smoothly over breakfast the next day. "Your mother doesn't want to be surrounded by memories and neither Randall nor I care much for this place. So when you pack, you'd better take everything you care about with you."

The house was being put up for sale. This in itself was no great sorrow but the consequences were and when he'd realised, Danny had galloped from the breakfast table and pelted full length down the corridors to find Luis. He'd wrapped his arms around the man and sobbed and sobbed and then Maria had been there and there had been tears all round.

"We'll be fine, Danny," Luis promised. "We'll find another situation and we'll be fine."

A vision of Luis and Maria working for another family, making friends with another little boy, flashed before Danny's eyes and some of it must have showed on his face.

"We won't ever forget you," Luis said fiercely and Maria said more in voluble Spanish accompanied by hugs and kisses.

"I'm going here," Danny said, writing out the name of the Texan school with a shaky hand. "Please write to me from wherever you go to. Please. And then I can write to you."

Luis and Maria looked at each other. "We're not great letter writers, Danny," Luis began.

"_Please!" _And he was as passionate and as desperate as he had been with his mother.

"We will write," Maria told him solemnly and he was comforted. She had made it sound like a vow.

Luis put his hand on Danny's shoulder. "You're a good boy, Danny, and you have a good heart. Remember what counts."

He would. He would. And on that Monday, as he started the journey that would take him to the new school, he told himself over and over that he would never forget what mattered in this world. _Who_ mattered in this world. Because some things - some people - were worth remembering.


	4. New Surroundings

Mind and Vision by InSilva

Disclaimer: Danny isn't mine, no way, no how.

Chapter Four: New Surroundings

* * *

At some point in the early twentieth century, a little after prohibition and a little before the 1941 War, a Texan millionaire with a philanthropic streak had set up a preparatory school for young men who wished to further themselves. Some decades and changes of strategic direction later and the Weston Harkett School had become a modern-thinking environment, its buildings lounging over a sprawling campus. The school had over a thousand students, now boys and girls, about a quarter of them boarders.

With that number of people, it was easy for Danny to keep his mouth shut and his head down and his eyes and ears open as he learned the routines and the geography of his new home. The teachers were easy-going and liberal and earnest. The pupils were quick to take advantage of the laid-back attitude. There was no uniform, there were few rules and Danny's lessons were in no way challenging.

_His first English lesson._

"_We are going to have a very difficult spelling test," announced Miss Campbell, long patterned dress, long, curly hair and enormous spectacles. "Everyone ready?"_

_Danny stared down at the paper, concentrating as she cleared her throat dramatically._

"_Wednesday."_

_Danny lifted his gaze incredulously and felt others do the same. "Very difficult" was obviously a relative term._

There were no sparks of the magic he'd had studying with Mark, his tutor. The upside of that was that it left his imagination free to roam.

His imagination was his lifeline too as he lay in bed in the ten boy dormitory each night and listened to the gentle snores around him. Danny thought of the stories about Luis and Felipe, about pranks and charm and friendship. Adventure after adventure after adventure. Eventually, he would fall asleep.

* * *

It wasn't hard to see the have nots. The school was full of them. Danny felt no compunction in taking the opportunity to carefully relieve some of them of a few dollars here and there. He redistributed the cash equally carefully, sharing it amongst the unknowing and the unwitting whom he felt deserved it, Luis and Felipe at his shoulder, urging him on.

* * *

The mail at Weston High School was delivered at breakfast. Seven weeks after he had arrived, the letter dropped down in front of Danny and he stared at the careful handwriting. Luis. He stifled the joy and pulled the envelope down on to his lap. Tears prickled the back of his eyes. He hadn't been forgotten.

General Studies was the first lesson but Mrs Hayes was always late. Mack Henry, two years above Danny, told everyone that she drank and enough people believed for it to be a truth. Danny didn't know if it was true or not and he didn't care. The important thing was that she wouldn't even notice if Danny stole a precious five minutes.

Up in the empty dormitory, he tore the envelope open and pulled out the short letter.

_Dear Danny,_

_We hope you are well and the school is good._

_We have a new position with a family. The address is at the top of the letter."_

Danny checked. It was another East Coast family.

"_Mr and Mrs Morgan have three grown-up daughters who live at home. Their house is very smart. Maria cooks and cleans and I drive and do some little jobs."_

Maria's cooking. Wonderful meals and marvellous cakes and cookies. Danny felt more homesick than he knew was possible.

"_We think about you often, Danny. We hope you learn much._

_Your friends,_

_Luis and Maria"_

His vision was almost too blurry for him to make out Maria's words added at the bottom. Words of love written in bad English.

Danny lifted the paper to his nose and thought he could make out Luis's tobacco. Maybe Maria's baking. He blinked back the tears: he wasn't going to cry anymore.

* * *

Life continued. School continued. Danny folded down into himself and made several shallow friendships and acquaintances. He was everyone's friend and no one's. There was no shortage of people to sit with at mealtimes or to partner with in lessons; Danny was never the last to be picked for teams; he enjoyed a quiet popularity.

Treading water. That was what it felt like.

December and the holidays came and the school emptied apart from those who had nowhere to go. Danny listened to the chatter and the excitement around him. Unmoved, he smiled a goodbye to his classmates until his jaw ached and he could stand it no longer. He took himself to the library and found a copy of _"Huckleberry Finn" _tucked behind other titles he didn't recognise_. _

Two hours later, when Danny was sure that all the happiness had left for three weeks, he walked back to the dormitory.

Sitting on his bed was a parcel. Danny moved closer and stared down at it. It was a brown paper package and as Danny saw the handwriting, it became one of his favourite things. He dropped down on to the bed and tore the paper off.

There was a letter and love and an old pack of cards – _"I meant to give these to you before you left"_ - and a cake, a wonderful fruit cake from Maria. Danny picked it up reverently.

"Mr Nash brought it up."

With difficulty, Danny refrained from jumping. In the corner of the room sat Osmond Forsythe, a stringbean of a boy with reddy-brown hair and glasses whom Danny hadn't taken that much notice of. Osmond was studying a chessboard and he didn't look up.

"I thought…" Danny tailed off.

Osmond did look up at that.

"You thought you were the only one left behind?" Osmond's mouth twisted into a smile. "Nah. My parents are both in the forces. They've been leaving me behind for years."

Huh. Danny looked down at the present in his hands.

"You want some fruitcake?"

"I'm allergic," Osmond sighed.

Danny frowned. "To fruitcake?"

"To most things. Mom says I need to eat healthy."

"Fruit's healthy," Danny pointed out.

"Yeah…" Osmond shrugged and held up the packet of prunes. "You want some?"

Danny looked down at the fruitcake and then up at Osmond and smiled suddenly. "I'd love some."

* * *

Spring semester. Winter and cold isolation thawed and new shoots of friendship started to form. Danny taught Osmond poker and Osmond taught Danny chess. Osmond always beat him. Often in less than five minutes. In desperation one day, Danny tried another tactic.

"That's…that's an unusual opening move…" Osmond frowned.

"Unusual good or unusual…?"

"I'll tell you in a minute."

More frowning. More deliberation. Osmond's usual confidence was definitely knocked. There was an eventual stalemate and Danny grinned. It felt as good as winning.

* * *

Long letters written to Luis and Maria about lessons, about haves and have nots…lots about Osmond... Irregular short missives in return with Luis's neat letter formation and Maria's badly written hand. Danny treasured every one.

"Here." Danny pushed an opened bottle of Coke into Osmond's hand and flopped down beside him on the bench.

"Thanks." Osmond's face was as red as his hair. "Who ever thought that Phys Ed was a good idea?"

Danny drank from his own bottle and considered the question. "People who are good at it?"

"Probably." Osmond shook his head at the proffered Mars bar. "No, thanks."

"Allergic to chocolate?"

"Dairy."

"What _do _you eat?" Danny wondered aloud.

"Nothing that tastes good," Osmond assured him.

"And you're sure about these allergies?"

Osmond hesitated. "Mom says…Mom wants me to be careful."

Well, there was a difference between careful and the cardboard that Osmond seemed to live on. Not to mention Osmond's veritable medicine chest of mysterious bottles and pills that Danny was certain the school would confiscate if they understood the contents. Funny how laxatives could masquerade as health drinks and vitamins.

"There's a doctor on the campus," Danny suggested. "Ask him to check you over."

"S'pose…" Osmond looked dubious. "Reckon that'd cost money."

"How much?" Danny's brain was already making calculations and thinking about sources.

"More than I've got," Osmond sighed.

"But-"

"Just forget it, Danny." Osmond gave a shrug of acceptance. "You don't miss what you don't have."

* * *

A roundabout conversation with the campus doctor led to two inexorable conclusions. Firstly, allergy tests _did_ cost money. More than Danny could lift out of wallets without someone noticing. Added to which, Osmond didn't seem the sort who would just accept the cash.

Secondly, allergy tests needed parental permission. Danny would have suggested forging Osmond's mom's signature but he knew enough - Osmond _never_ cheated - to know that Osmond was firmly glued to the straight and narrow path. Still. If Os had the cash, maybe he could _ask_ his mom… Moms were supposed to do that sort of thing, weren't they?

It took Danny a whole two days to remember the accumulated allowance he hardly touched. After that, it was just a case of figuring out how to pass it on to Osmond.

* * *

Mr Nash, Housemaster and Math Teacher, thought a school chess tournament was a wonderful idea.

"Not that we at Weston's encourage too much competition, you understand," he told Danny. "But chess is about the battle of the minds! Strategy! Tactics! The mental cut and thrust! It will be a fantastic way to round off the summer semester!"

Danny nodded agreeably.

Osmond was less amenable.

"A chess tournament?" He stared down at the flyer that Danny had handed him. "I don't know, Danny."

"What's not to know?" Danny asked quickly. "You're terrific, Os."

Osmond looked at him. "I'm eleven. And this is the _whole_ school we're talking about."

"You're terrific," Danny told him again. "Besides. I'm going in for it. You won't be on your own."

Not until after the first match at least, Danny added mentally.

Osmond wavered a little longer and then capitulated. Danny's smile was broad.

* * *

Danny firmly believed in Osmond's brilliance but there was more riding on this than he could leave to chance and skill. Danny looked at the schedule that was pinned up on the main school noticeboard.

In the rush of the end of semester activities, the chess tournament had mostly been overlooked. Sixteen players had signed up – fifteen, actually, they'd had to give someone a bye to the next round. Osmond and he were the only two from his year. There was a girl from the next year up and Mack Henry and another third year, six fifth years and four from the top end of the school. Four matches stood between Osmond and the title and a little silver cup that Mr Nash had bought. Four matches. That didn't seem a lot.

Mack Henry was Osmond's first opponent. Danny smiled. It wouldn't take much to find out how good Mack was.

* * *

Sure enough, Mack had taken up residence on the edge of the playground, chessboard in front of him, small circle of awed faces around him, as he stared furiously down at the black and white squares.

Sitting opposite him, glancing round at the audience and knitting and unknitting his fingers, was Wally Rybeck, Mack's classmate who was also taking part in the competition. Wally was patently more self-conscious about this public show.

Danny watched them play. Wally was the one with the skill. When he wasn't gulping air and blinking, when he was _actually_ focused on the game, he reminded Danny of Osmond, his hands moving surely and swiftly and decisively to take out pieces and to reframe the game ready for the next move. He wasn't quite as smooth as Osmond, didn't seem to take all the chances that he could but Wally was good.

Mack, on the other hand, was all about the showmanship. Sweeping gestures, dazzling sacrifices, heavy sighs and delighted smiles. No tactics, no strategy. Danny reckoned _he_ could beat Mack Henry.

Just as Danny felt he'd seen enough and turned to go, Mack surprisingly put Wally's king in check. It was a weak check and Wally could easily escape. Something unspoken, though, was going on between them. Danny watched their faces; Mack, unblinking and Wally, nervous.

With a jerky gesture, Wally reached out a hand and knocked over his king.

"Checkmate," he muttered and Mack beamed and took the applause.

Interesting.

* * *

He had no qualms about Osmond being able to take Mack Henry. The match would be over in about six moves. Except…

Osmond was late down for dinner. Danny saw the discomposure and the way he favoured his right arm and didn't say a word until they were out of the dinner hall and on their way back to the dormitory. He pulled Osmond to one side.

"What happened?"

Osmond flushed.

"Os, what happened?" Danny asked again gently.

Osmond sighed. "Mack Henry asked me if I intended to win our match."

"And you said-"

"I said yes and of course."

Danny's eyes dropped down to Osmond's arm. "What did he do?"

"S'nothing."

Danny grabbed his arm and pulled up the sleeve. There was an ugly mark that spoke of flesh being twisted in two different directions. Danny's mouth tightened.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Osmond said quickly. "And I'm not going to win the match either."

"Osmond!"

"No, Danny, I'm sorry. I'm a complete coward. Had my glasses knocked off one too many times to do otherwise."

He pulled away and Danny stared after him, open-mouthed.

* * *

Neutralising Mack Henry was tricky but not impossible. Danny knew he wasn't up to confronting Mack head on but he thought he understood what was important to Mack. Mack liked an audience and high regard and popularity and he wanted to be in with the older kids.

Which meant that a scrunched-up flyer, dropped carefully at lunch amongst the group of fifth years whom Mack always sat next to, might work a treat.

"Chess tournament?" one of them scoffed loudly as Danny walked away and took up residence at the next bench. "What a stupid idea!"

"Yeah," agreed another. "For girls and wimps."

"Or wimps who want to pull girls," said a third.

"How could anyone think that was cool?"

Danny could see Mack's cheeks going redder and redder. Good.

* * *

Mack Henry withdrew from the tournament shortly after lunch and Danny heard him announcing to anyone who would listen that it had all been a bit of a joke and only a weirdo would want to take part.

Osmond was a little bewildered and a lot relieved.

"I get a bye to the quarter-finals," he gabbled. "How lucky is that?"

"You make your own luck in this life," Danny told him. "Now make sure you win."

* * *

Unexpectedly, Danny found his way past his first opponent, a fifth-year girl named Coco who made a number of flustered mistakes. Danny guessed that maybe he was better than he thought. All those weeks of playing Osmond and some of the clever must have rubbed off.

Apart from himself and Osmond, the final eight comprised three fifth-years, a boy in his final year at Weston, Wally Rybeck and Karen Allen, the second year. He and Wally were up against fifth-years: Osmond was playing Karen.

Girls were harder to fathom than Mack Henry. Danny wasn't even sure how he was going to find out about Karen. Well, he knew the basics. She had brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and she had braces. She sat on her own a lot at lunchtime with books piled in front of her. Apart from that…

Two days later and the day of the match and Danny was still puzzling about the enigma that was girl. He sat in the library ostensibly reading reference books on Billy the Kid and Jesse James and actually resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to trust to Osmond's innate skill at chess on this one.

"Hi." Shy and hesitant and female.

Danny looked up and saw the object of the conundrum standing next to him.

"Hi," he replied, allowing curiosity to flavour his voice.

Karen drew out the chair next to him and sat down, huddling close.

"It's Danny, right?"

Her voice was low as if she was about to impart a big secret and Danny automatically mirrored it.

"Yeah."

"I'm Karen."

"Yeah." He knew.

Mrs Oliver, the librarian with eagle eyes, the ears of a bat and the skin of a hippopotamus, walked past and paused, frowning. As one, they ducked their heads over the books in front of them. Mrs Oliver moved on on her rounds.

"You know Osmond Forsythe," Karen blurted out.

"I do."

Karen was obviously doing a little digging of her own.

"I'm playing him after lunch in the next round of the chess tournament."

"I know."

"I didn't know he liked chess. It's just…" she tailed off and looked down at her hands, knitted together in front of her. "Does he like me?"

The question caught Danny by surprise. He looked at her – really looked at her – and something in her manner reminded him of… The movies he'd seen with Mark, his tutor. The doe-eyed way some of the women had looked at the hero…

"Yes," Danny said at once, full of conviction and absolutely to be believed.

After all, Osmond hadn't said he _didn't_ like Karen...

"Oh!" Karen blushed prettily.

Mrs Oliver walked past again and killed the conversation but judging by the little glow still colouring Karen's face, enough had been said.

So Karen liked Osmond... Danny mused on this fact on the way back to the dormitory to meet Osmond for lunch. Karen liked Osmond… This seemed significant and he wondered briefly how to use the information and wondered longer about whether to tell Osmond.

Osmond was sitting on his bed with the chessboard in front of him, lost in a world of knights and bishops and kings and queens and pawns. Maybe now was not the right moment.

* * *

Danny's match was after Osmond's and he stood in the main hall and watched as Osmond and Karen shook hands and sat down opposite.

Karen was blushing all over again at the handshake: Osmond was oblivious. Karen looked up under her eyelashes every time she moved a piece: Osmond never took his eyes off the board. Karen wasn't a bad player, Danny realised, but she wasn't in Osmond's league.

Five minutes later and Osmond moved his queen forward, pressing home the attack that he'd started with his knight.

"Check," he said and lifted his gaze up to Karen's face for the first time since the game had got underway.

Osmond sat back in his chair, his eyes widened and he swallowed hard and Danny saw that all concentration was gone. He could only hope…

"Checkmate," Karen acknowledged, knocking over her king and blushing.

"Yeah…" Osmond agreed.

Danny steered a dazed Osmond to a bench at the side of the hall.

"Well done," Danny congratulated him. "You're through to the next round."

"Yes," Osmond agreed absently. "Danny, did you see how she looked at me?"

"Uh huh."

"Danny, _why_ did she look like that at me?"

Danny smiled. "I think she likes you."

"Oh…" Osmond took the information in and digested it. "_Oh!_"

"That's good, isn't it?"

Osmond flushed to his roots. "No one's ever _liked _me before. No girl, I mean. I mean not like that."

"Danny?" Mr Nash cut across Danny's response as he summoned him. "You're up next."

* * *

Danny's opponent was Silas Whittaker, a large fifteen-year-old with a superior look that reminded him strangely of Cole. Silas's non-chess piece handling hand was buried in a bag of candy.

"This isn't going to take long," Silas informed him, throwing a handful of candy into his mouth.

The annoying thing was that Silas was right. Ten moves and it was all over. Danny was reminded of Osmond. If Osmond had been arrogant and conceited and vile.

Silas yawned without putting his hand over his mouth and with fascinated horror, Danny saw boiled sweet decorated molars. Silas stood up and pushed the chair back.

"You know the interesting thing?" Silas said, leaning over the table. "I don't even want to win this ridiculous competition."

"Then why did you enter it?" The words were out before Danny could help himself.

"Because," Silas drawled and turned and left.

"Bad luck," Osmond was at his shoulder and looking up, it appeared that his complexion had returned to its normal pallor.

"He's good." As much as Danny didn't want to admit it, it was the truth.

"Yes," Osmond agreed with a sigh. "And I'm playing him next."

* * *

Osmond's semi-final against Silas was in two days' time which gave Danny a brief window of opportunity to plan furiously and execute carefully. Not that he didn't believe in Osmond's ability because he did, he really did. But this wasn't about helping Osmond to win. This was about helping Silas to lose.

Word on the playground was that Silas was a straight A student who knew it. He had no close friends and didn't care in the slightest. His weakness was junk food. Candy. Chocolate. Chips. Cake. Junk food and he didn't care how he came by it. Somewhere at the back of Danny's mind, an idea started to form.

* * *

Silas yawned and stretched on his way to lunch then stopped in his tracks. The first year that he'd thrashed in the chess match was sat on a bench staring lovingly at a large chocolate cream cake in his hand.

"Hey," Silas said softly, standing in front of the kid. He was pleased to see the kid give a jump of recognition. "That looks good."

"Oh, it is," the kid gabbled. "It's cream and sponge and it's delicious."

"That's what I reckoned," Silas grinned and reached out and took the cake from the kid's nerveless fingers.

"But…but…"

Silas bit into the cake in front of him and frowned.

"Tastes funny."

"That's the cherry syrup!" The kid sounded close to tears. "That's the best part!"

"Huh. Yeah. I'm getting it now." Silas demolished the rest of it in four impressive bites then moved on to lunch, the nearly tearful first year forgotten.

After lunch, there was the tiresome matter of the chess match. Another first year to walk over and then- Silas stopped as an alarming gurgle came from his stomach. Oh, that wasn't right…

* * *

Silas was late. Danny saw Osmond shuffle uncomfortably in his seat, not keen on being the sole focus of attention. Osmond looked over at Danny and silently asked the question. Danny shrugged an encouraging shrug that endeavoured to say he didn't know where Silas was and that Osmond ought to sit tight.

"Er…" Mr Nash was checking his watch. "Has anyone seen…Silas! Oh, good! You're here!"

Silas was indeed there. Green-faced and white-faced all at the same time. He pushed past the onlookers and slumped awkwardly down at the table. Osmond held out a hesitant hand. Silas ignored it.

"Let's get this over with," Silas snapped.

The game lasted all of four moves before Silas clutched his stomach and groaned and galloped from the room.

"Well…" Mr Nash broke the silence. "I think we can declare that a victory for you by default, Osmond."

There was a smattering of spontaneous applause. And that was probably all about Silas losing but Danny caught sight of Karen clapping furiously and surely that was all about Osmond.

* * *

"I'm in the final," Osmond beamed happily. "Danny, I'm in the final."

"That's-"

"Do you think Karen will come and watch me?"

"I-"

"She came and watched me in the semis."

"Yes-"

"Yes." Osmond's smile wasn't fading. "Yes."

The smile was infectious: Danny returned it.

* * *

Wally Rybeck. That was who the other finalist was. Danny hadn't taken much notice of Wally's progress and it was a surprise to find him as Osmond's opponent. A lesson to be learned about paying attention to detail.

Intimidation worked on Wally; Danny had seen that for himself. But intimidating Wally just seemed wrong. Wally wasn't Mack Henry with ego and swagger or Karen doing a great job of distracting herself or Silas with greed and arrogance. Wally was_ nice_. With regret, Danny resigned himself to leaving it up to Osmond.

"I've seen Wally play," he told Osmond at lunch. "He's good but he's not as good as you."

Osmond nodded and didn't look in the least bit comforted. "He got to the final, didn't he? Of course he's as good as me."

Danny sighed and tried again. "Hold your nerve. Look confident. If you look confident and you act confident then Wally will fold."

Osmond nodded again and Danny could see him doing his best to muster up a little swagger. It really wasn't working as a look.

Danny hesitated for a second and then looked him straight in the eyes and told him the truth, his voice clear and carrying.

"I believe in you, Osmond. You can do this. You can win."

Osmond believed. His eyes shone. And over his shoulder, Wally Rybeck visually shrivelled.

* * *

Danny didn't get to see the final. A persistent summons to the Principal's office came out of nowhere over the tannoy and reluctantly, he left Osmond to it.

Danny's imagination ran riot on the way up the stairs. Maybe, somehow, they'd found out what he'd done to Silas. Maybe, somehow, the conversation with the campus doctor had come to light. Maybe, somehow, they'd read Danny's mind. He couldn't think _how_ but he wasn't going to rule out the possibility of telepathy existing.

"Come on in, Danny." Principal Beckerling beckoned him in. "You have visitors."

Two visitors. Two unexpected visitors sitting in front of the Principal's desk. As Principal Beckerling excused himself, Danny stared at Cole and Mr Lawrenson.

"Oh, believe me," Cole said shortly. "I'm as surprised as you are to be here."

"Why are you?" The words were snapped and out before Danny could stop himself. He was still so very angry at Cole.

His half-brother waved an impatient hand. "Small print in the will. You have to have an annual review meeting with one of the trustees. It's not going to be Randall and it's never going to be your mother so you've got me."

"Fantastic."

Cole gave a flicker of a smile. "Well, let's get this over with."

Mr Lawrenson cleared his throat and consulted paperwork in his hand.

"The reports seem to suggest that you are doing well in your studies, Danny," he said. "The school seems to be meeting your educational requirements."

Danny shrugged. He didn't feel like he was being stretched.

"That's good," Mr Lawrenson went on. "If we thought otherwise, then I would have to push for more regular reviews. Maybe even a rethink."

Danny saw the grimace of annoyance on Cole's face that spoke of time being wasted and he couldn't stop the gleam in his eyes. Cole saw it and sprang to his feet.

"Don't even think about letting your grades slide! You drag me down here more often than I need be and I'll yank you out of here so fast, your feet won't touch the ground! This is the soft option, you know."

Soft option? Torn out of his roots and thrown the other side of the country?

Cole smiled unpleasantly. "You fancy a spot of military academy training?" he asked softly.

Danny's fingers curled into his palms.

"Crew cut?" Cole murmured. "Bit of discipline?"

Cole would do it. Danny had no doubt. Instinctive defiance made him raise his chin and then he thought about Osmond. About the relative freedom and independence he enjoyed at Weston Harkett. About the correspondence with Luis and Maria and the likelihood of letters and fruitcake and cards reaching him at military academy. The bargaining chips definitely lay with Cole. Danny dropped his gaze to the carpet and felt the triumph rolling off Cole.

"Good. Because believe me, I can be an annoying little bastard too." Cole turned to Mr Lawrenson. "He's fit and well. Are we done here?"

"Pretty much, pretty much." The lawyer shuffled his paperwork. "Just a couple of things to-"

"Do you need me?" Cole cut across him.

"No…"

"Right. I'll be waiting in reception."

Danny watched him disappear through the door and then turned his attention back to Mr Lawrenson.

"What else do you need?" he asked tonelessly.

"I just want to make sure you have sufficient allowance."

"It's fine."

"And the figures for your tuition are very modest."

No kidding.

"Danny…" Mr Lawrenson hesitated. "I'm not here to take sides with your brothers-"

"-_half-_brothers-"

Mr Lawrenson continued as if Danny hadn't spoken.

"I mean I'm not a trustee but it's my role to make sure that your father's will is executed properly. That the trust fund is administered correctly. I worked for your father a long time and I'm here to help and advise you if you have any questions or concerns..."

Danny looked at him and considered. He'd been so caught up both at the will-reading and today with the battle with Cole that he hadn't really taken much account of the man.

"Mr Lawrenson, please can you explain the terms of the trust fund to me in detail?"

Mr Lawrenson's face lit up. "It would be a pleasure."

* * *

Osmond was waiting for him when he got back to the dormitory and the sight of him drove the new information and plans from Danny's mind.

"Oh, Os, you won!" Danny grinned at the silver cup in Osmond's hand. "Tell me all about it."

Osmond took him at his word and recounted every move. It had been a quick and clean win and Osmond's biggest thrill was that Karen had been front and centre, watching him.

Danny smiled. Seeing someone he liked happy was a good feeling.

* * *

Four days later and Osmond was sat on his bed, staring wordlessly down at the contents of the envelope in bemusement. Danny gave it three minutes and then could bear it no longer.

"What is it, Os?"

Osmond started. With a furtive look around – highly unnecessary since they were the only two in the dormitory - he handed Danny the letter.

"_Dear Mr Forsythe," _Danny read aloud, "_Congratulations on your recent win in the Weston Harkett Chess Tournament."_

"They say there's a prize fund recognising achievement," Osmond said in a rush. "The-"

"-Cole and Randall Prize Fund," Danny completed, straight-faced, his eyes on the letter. "Set up by Friends of Weston Harkett. It says you were nominated to receive part of it."

Osmond held up a cheque and said in hushed tones, "It's for five hundred dollars."

"So it is," Danny nodded.

"Danny, do you think it's alright? Do you think it's legal?"

"It's _from_ a law firm," Danny pointed out, indicating the address at the top of the letterhead.

"Oh, yes." Some tension left Osmond. He stared down at the cheque.

"I've never had so much money before. I've never _seen _so much money before."

Danny handed him back the letter and let reverent silence hang in the air for a long moment.

"You know what you _could_ do with that money…"


	5. Appearances

Mind and Vision by InSilva

Disclaimer: didn't create Danny

A/N: as requested by otherhawk. More than once. Sorry, mate. ;)

A/N: looong chapter that I didn't want to split. Suggest you make a cup of tea first.

Chapter Five: Appearances

* * *

During the six weeks of summer vacation, Weston Harkett drained of pupils and teachers, leaving behind skeleton staff to look after the kids who didn't have a home to go to or who just weren't wanted there or who fell into both categories.

To start with, Os was going to be with him and Danny thought this might all be bearable. Then the day after term ended, Osmond's parents came unexpectedly for him. Osmond's face lit up with absolute delight and Danny waved him goodbye with a bright, tight smile.

It wasn't until Osmond had been driven away and he sat on his bed in the empty dormitory that he thought about the weeks stretching out ahead. It was going to be a long summer.

* * *

September and Osmond returned to a warm welcome and with the news that the allergy tests had come back with only peanuts as the villain.

Danny's smile grew wider. "That mean you can eat chocolate?"

"Eat chocolate, eat shrimp, eat wheat, eat dairy," Osmond recited.

"I'm fresh out of shrimp but I got this." Danny handed over a Mars Bar and Osmond's face lit up with happiness.

"Oh, these taste so _good,_" Osmond said, tearing off the wrapper and biting into it.

There was delight in the final word and Danny smiled. He somehow doubted he'd find anyone who enjoyed food with quite that degree of relish.

"You have a good time with your parents?"

"Just the best," Osmond nodded happily. "They'd saved up their leave so we could all go to Florida. Disney."

Danny listened to the bubble of contentment and part of him tried to imagine a vacation with his father and mother. He shook his head. Impossible.

"So what have you been up to?" Osmond asked.

Mornings taken up with dull summer school sessions; afternoons spent on enforced sports that had been enough to put him off circuit-training for life.

"Nothing as exciting," Danny said truthfully.

Osmond picked up the leaflet off Danny's bed. "What's this?"

"Extra lessons you can pay for."

Osmond scrutinised the list. "There's all sorts on here. Are you going for any?"

"Yeah," Danny said. "French and German."

"Really?"

"Really." Danny changed the subject. "Tell me about Florida."

* * *

Going into the second year meant new subjects and new teachers and one of them was Life Skills with Mr Winton. Mr Winton was old school. A teacher who firmly believed that if you spared the rod, you spoiled the child. When his previous school had merged with a neighbour four years previous, there had been no room for Mr Winton and he'd applied to Weston Harkett to teach Latin. Latin was what he'd lived and breathed for twenty-six years and he looked forward to beating logic and grammar and syntax into schoolboys' minds the way he had for the past quarter of a century.

Weston Harkett had no call for Latin. However, the Principal had been impressed with Mr Winton's solid service record and had offered him a place on the teaching staff to deliver Life Skills.

"_What our young men and women need is a good all round education," the Principal had told him earnestly. "They need to be exposed to all kinds of influence in order to shape their destiny."_

Mr Winton thought the Life Skills syllabus weaker and washed out than his sister Elinor's ginger beer and the only plus side of that was there was plenty of latitude as to how he delivered the unit content. In any case, there hadn't been a plethora of opportunities, so with great reluctance, he had accepted.

The lack of discipline within the school had come as a shock. He had brought his trusty cane with him on his first day and had been politely but firmly asked to leave it at home thereafter.

Four years on and the only weapon he had against the schoolchildren and their appetite for chaos was his never-forgotten ability to single out and humiliate a child with sharp words. It was something he liked to practise often. It was good to make sure they knew who was in charge.

* * *

"_Life Skills._" Danny sat at his desk and studied the words on the blackboard. His nose wrinkled. "Sounds…vague to me. What do you think we study?"

Osmond looked as bemused as Danny felt. "More to the point, how do you think we pass it?"

Their conversation was interrupted by the door opening and their teacher, Mr Winton, sweeping into the room and depositing his leather briefcase on the table. Silence greeted him and he stood and ran his eyes over the class with a baleful eye.

"My name is Mr Winton. You will call me Mr Winton. You will, in future, stand when I enter the room and greet me with "Good morning, Mr Winton" or "Good afternoon, Mr Winton" depending on the time of day. You will concentrate in my lesson and you will provide your homework promptly and without fail. There are no excuses for not handing in assignments. You will now all stand."

No one moved for a second and then there was the sound of thirty chairs being scraped back as the class got to its feet.

"One by one, you will announce your full name clearly and distinctly. You." He pointed at Marie Andrews who was sitting on the front row, first left and whom Danny was certain right now was wishing she was anywhere else. "Begin."

They said their name and sat down once Mr Winton was satisfied he had mastered it. They also learned that when he said full name, he meant full name. Danny was Daniel. Os was Osmond. A boy who had gone the entire first year known as Skids to pupils and teachers alike was suddenly outed as Torquil.

"Good," Mr Winton said when the last pupil – Mandy-now-Amanda Bayliss – had sat down. "Now some of you may be wondering what Life Skills involves. Let me enlighten you."

Danny sat forward, curious.

"Horse, shampoo, fountain, book," Mr Winton said rapidly and suddenly, in Danny's head, a horse was shampooing its hair in a fountain while reading a book, "lion, guitar, rocket, castle, river, gasoline, rose, chair, radiator, bear…"

The list of random words continued for a minute, two minutes, longer. Danny looked round and everyone was looking as confused as he was. A couple of nervous smiles were appearing. Had Mr Winton completely lost it?

Then just as suddenly as he'd started, Mr Winton stopped.

"Life Skills is about improving your grubby little minds. About sharpening them and honing them so that they can cope with the mental challenges and mundane practicalities in this world. Now. What was the first word in that list that I recited?"

Horse. Danny was certain. He put his hands up along with about half the class. Mr Winton chose Mandy-now-Amanda and she answered correctly. Mr Winton looked vaguely disappointed.

"And the second word?"

Shampoo. Fewer hands this time and fewer still for fountain but Mr Winton's lips grew tighter: apparently they weren't supposed to remember so well without being taught how.

"And the fourth word?"

Silence. Satisfaction started to creep across Mr Winton's face and then slowly, Danny's hand went up. He was almost certain he knew the answer. Mr Winton's eyes narrowed.

"Why, Daniel, is it?" Mr Winton checked his notes.

"Yes, sir. Is it 'book'?"

Mr Winton said nothing immediately. Instead, he stared at Danny and Danny couldn't read his face at all.

"Don't you have any other clothes, Daniel?"

Danny blinked. "Pardon me?"

"That jumper is halfway up your arm."

Self-conscious, Danny pulled his sleeve as far down as he could. His clothes _had _been getting tighter. Shorter.

"Well? Cat got your tongue? Don't you have any other clothes? On your feet, boy."

Danny pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

"Out front."

He felt the eyes of the rest of the class follow him as he walked up to the front of the classroom.

Mr Winton circled him, looking him up and down. The inspection seemed to go on forever and Danny felt the humiliation burning in his face. Finally, Mr Winton stopped.

"Your trousers are at half-mast and your jumper is a disgrace. Get out of my classroom and don't come back until you are properly dressed."

Until he was…?

"_Go," _came the instruction and as if in a dream, Danny stumbled out of the room and into the school corridors.

He leant up against the wall and felt the confusion wash over him. Clothes. They just appeared. He'd never questioned – he'd never _had_ to question. There were _always _clothes. He opened the wardrobe door and there they were.

Huh. Saying it in his head like that made it sound like he believed in magic. Thank goodness he hadn't said to Mr Winton that the clothes just materialised. Something told him he wouldn't have heard the last of it.

"Danny? Are you alright?"

He turned to find Mr Cahill, the teacher who took them for art. Mr Cahill was young and keen and smiling and eager to please. He reminded Danny of Mark, his ex-tutor and Danny felt a little sorry for him because no one listened to him in the slightest. There was far too much fun to be had with paint and glue and self-expression.

Falteringly, Danny explained the reason he was out of class. Mr Cahill listened, frowning a little, and then asked:

"I bet you have older brothers."

Yeah. Kind of. Danny nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Me too," Mr Cahill sympathised. "I spent my life in hand-me-downs when I was your age. My kid sister got off lightly."

Well, that wasn't _quite_ how things had happened. Leaving aside the age gap, leaving aside the likelihood of the clothes being passed on in the first place, leaving aside any fashion objections, Danny had trouble picturing himself in anything that Cole or Randall would wear. He shuddered.

"Yes," Mr Cahill smiled, misinterpreting the horror. "There's a pink and white polka dot shirt that I never want to see again."

Danny could just go quite happily without seeing Cole or Randall again.

"Well. Let's get in touch with your folks and get them to send-"

"No!"

No. Randall wouldn't care and Cole just _wouldn't. _And his mother…his mother…

"No," Danny said again. "It's not necessary. I've got an allowance that's banked for me with the bursar."

"Oh…" Mr Cahill looked surprised. "Oh, well, that's OK then."

Yeah. Except he didn't know how he was going to spend it. Wasn't like there was a department store on campus and Danny didn't have a clue where the nearest shopping mall was.

Maybe Mr Cahill saw a little of how it was.

"What do you have for your next lesson?"

"Phys Ed," Danny said and couldn't help the gloom pervading the two words. To be endured rather than enjoyed and he couldn't help thinking that his PE kit wasn't any more comfortable to wear than his ordinary clothes were.

"And then it's lunch." Mr Cahill looked thoughtful. "Come with me, Danny. Let's see what we can do."

A visit to the Principal's office where Danny was asked to wait outside while a long conversation took place inside. Danny heard the odd word floating through the door. "_Winton"_ and _"singled out"_ followed by some deep muttering of disapproval. Well, Danny felt quite disapproving too. And then he heard the Principal's voice - _"father's deceased" _and _"family" - _and there were soft noises of sympathy and he didn't care for any of that at all.

But then door was suddenly flung open and Mr Cahill emerged, smiling and waving a piece of paper called "special dispensation". There was a trip to the bursar to collect some money and Danny hesitated over the amount.

"Would a hundred dollars be enough?"

Mr Cahill's eyes were round and he cleared his throat and nodded. "I think that will do."

* * *

Osmond found him at lunchtime up in the dormitory, dressed in very obviously new clothes that did at least fit him. Danny ran a finger around the new shirt collar.

"Do I look stupid?" he asked Osmond.

"You look fine," Osmond reassured him. "Where did you get all this stuff?"

"Shopping trip with Mr Cahill."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Unexpected. He said he'd arrange a shopping trip once a semester for me."

It had been a kind gesture and Danny felt grateful. He didn't know how he was going to repay Mr Cahill but he wanted to and he'd think of something.

"Anyway. How did the rest of the lesson with Mr Winton go?"

"Oh!" Osmond shook his head. "He's a little strange. And a lot scary."

Yeah. That about summed up Mr Winton.

Mr Cahill's class was the next day and he didn't say a thing about the clothes. In fact, he hardly said two words to Danny, just nodded and flashed him a quick smile and when Danny wasn't looking, the smile faded into a thoughtful look.

It was with a little trepidation that Danny watched Mr Winton walk into the classroom the following week. With the others, he got to his feet and joined in the chorus of greeting.

"Sit," Mr Winton instructed, adding, "Not so fast, Daniel."

Danny stopped, awkwardly, caught between standing and sitting. Slowly, he straightened up.

Mr Winton fixed his gaze on Danny's clothes and Danny resisted the urge to pull his sleeves down. The clothes fitted perfectly. Instead, he stood stock still and stared straight ahead. This wasn't the first time he'd had to grit his teeth and keep his silence.

Finally, Mr Winton spoke.

"I am pleased to see that you bothered to dress yourself properly. Remember that a smart demeanour denotes a smart mind. Sit down."

Danny took his seat, the chair scraping along the floor as Mr Winton stood behind his desk then turned abruptly on his heel, facing the blackboard and selecting a piece of chalk.

"Everyone, take out a pen and paper and make as many words of three letters and more from this."

He wrote, in a flowing script, "_Orchestra", _and then turned back round.

"Begin."

* * *

For the next six weeks, lessons with Mr Winton continued in this fashion - mental gymnastics that drilled them all in logic and reason. Danny had to admit it wasn't completely awful. If someone else had been teaching them, it might even have been enjoyable. As it was, he took a perverse pleasure in not volunteering the right answers and not trying half as well as he might with the homework. He wasn't going to work for Mr Winton.

Mr Winton remained unpredictable and quick to chastise and the lessons were always a complete minefield.

"He's just impossible," Osmond complained as they walked back to the dormitory after class. "There's just no pleasing him."

"No," Danny agreed. Mr Winton enjoyed being impossible to please.

* * *

There was an envelope waiting on Osmond's bed and Osmond's face lit up.

"Karen?" Danny hazarded. Osmond and Karen were officially seeing each other – shy smiles, hand-holding, walks and sodas. Danny liked seeing Osmond happy.

"What's this?" Osmond picked up a piece of paper underneath the envelope and opened it. "Oh. It's for you. Sorry." He handed it over and frowned as he did so. "You're signing up for Spanish lessons?"

"Yep." Danny took the paper that confirmed his place at the Spanish classes.

Osmond frowned. "But you signed up for French and German already."

"That's right."

The frown grew deeper. "What, you're going to be a linguist?"

"Maybe it's my ambition to know three words in several languages."

Osmond looked at him searchingly. "Is it?"

"No. I'm gonna ditch French and German."

"But you've paid for them already," Osmond pointed out.

"Spanish is what I really want to learn."

It was the truth. Writing to Luis and Maria in their own tongue… That was something special. That was something worth doing.

After a few weeks, he felt brave enough to try a letter and he laboured over carefully-formed simple sentences in Spanish, slipping back into English when he didn't have the vocabulary.

There had been absolute delight in the letter that had come back. Danny couldn't stop smiling as he read it. So many things had been ripped away but Luis and Maria were still with him, still thinking about him, still cared about him.

Osmond had asked a few times about his family and Danny had firmly deflected the questions. He didn't want to talk about his father and his mother and he certainly didn't want to talk about Cole and Randall, not even to Os. Even speaking about Luis and Maria seemed like a secret too far. Osmond stopped asking and just accepted the slices of delicious fruit cake at Christmas and shared in return the biscuits and chocolates his parents had sent him.

No one else seemed that interested in his background and that was exactly how Danny liked it.

* * *

After Christmas, the Life Skills classes took on a variation. Every other week, there was a taster session of some of the subjects for the following year. Mr Winton led them in strict formation into the relevant classrooms where he let the different teachers lead the classes while he occasionally prowled up and down, offering sharp comments as he saw it fit.

January, and it was home economics. Mr Winton marched the class down to the cookery kitchen, took up residence at the front, baleful eye daring them to step out of line and left them to Mrs Newman. Mrs Newman was a no-nonsense teacher with white hair pulled back into a bun and a crisp white apron. She barked out instructions and recipes with such fierceness that no one wanted to ask her to repeat herself.

Later, when Danny found himself peering into the oven and staring at a sponge cake that refused to rise, he thought that he probably should have been brave enough to double-check the ingredients.

"How long's it been in there?" Osmond asked _sotto voce._

"Too long," Danny murmured back with a grimace.

"Right!" Mrs Newman snapped. "Let's look at how you've done."

With a sigh, Danny took out the cake and emptied it onto the wire rack. It landed with a forlorn thud. Mmm. Didn't seem like cooking was his thing. Danny glanced sideways at Osmond's neighbouring effort of light and fluffy and risen. Nope. Definitely not his thing.

Mrs Newman and Mr Winton agreed.

"C minus," Mrs Newman announced, jabbing the biscuit-like cake.

Mr Winton wrote the mark in a little black book and tutted. "Daniel, Daniel. Must. Do. Better."

The last three words were punctuated by three little prods into Danny's chest. Danny gritted his teeth.

"You seem adept at failing to impress, Daniel. I'm watching you."

* * *

"Cookery classes," Osmond said flatly a few days later. "You're signing up for cookery classes."

"You know I need them, Os," Danny replied.

"Yes, but…all those languages you were studying…"

"Well, if the cooking doesn't work out then at least I'll understand everything on the restaurant menus." Danny nodded at the box of chocolates Osmond was clutching. "Are they-

"-for Karen," Osmond blushed. "It's her birthday tomorrow. You think she'll like them?" he added anxiously.

Danny grinned. Os worried too much. "If she doesn't, I'll help you eat them. Deal?"

* * *

Mr Cahill had been as good as his word and organised a second expedition to the shops. Danny had taken out another hundred dollars and had made his purchases with more confidence than the last time.

Mr Cahill didn't buy anything for himself but at the till in the department store, Danny saw the way his eyes lingered on the wallets and key rings. He could slip one into his pocket and- No. No, he'd remember and he'd buy one the next time and make a thank you gift of it. Somehow it mattered that he use his own money for a present.

The February sunshine was bright but cold. Mr Cahill had suggested stopping at a cafe and Danny had agreed happily; sitting and people-watching and sipping a hot chocolate.

Mr Cahill was eating a sandwich like it was going out of fashion. He caught Danny looking.

"My kid sister's staying with me at the moment," he said by way of explanation and then perhaps realising that he'd explained nothing, went on, "she's moved in with her boyfriend and she's doing the cooking to help out." Mr Cahill pulled a wry face. "She really can't cook."

Danny related to that. He nodded sympathetically and insisted on buying Mr Cahill another sandwich.

"Thanks," Mr Cahill smiled. "That'll help when I have to chew through Dana's meatloaf. Do you have a sister?"

"Just two brothers. _Half-_brothers."

"They any good at cooking?"

Danny laughed at the thought. "I think Cole and Randall would be worse than I am."

"The trouble with Dana is that in her mind, she's good. And Harvey, her boyfriend, doesn't know any better. When the pair of them leave, I'm going to eat out every night for a month just to treat myself."

"Are they staying with you long?" Danny asked politely.

"Not too sure," Mr Cahill sighed. "Dana's in a bit of a fix and-" he broke off. "Doesn't matter." He smiled at Danny. "Something'll come up."

When they got back to Weston Harkett, Danny thanked Mr Cahill and added, without thinking, "This reminds me of trips out with my tutor, Mark."

"Your tutor?" Mr Cahill frowned.

Danny hesitated and then nodded.

"When did you have a tutor?" Mr Cahill asked curiously.

But before Danny had to answer, the lunch bell rang and ended the conversation. Danny disappeared into the melee of hungry pupils and Mr Cahill was left standing staring after him.

* * *

Life Skills had taken them into metalwork and woodwork classes where much to the dismay of some, they'd seen a hundred different tools – a mitre-gauge, a tenon saw, a lathe, a hacksaw, a plane – and they'd heard what they did but they hadn't been able to use them.

"All in good time," Mr Winton told them. "You don't imagine we want to arm you little hooligans with weapons, do you?"

Now it was the turn of needlework. Apparently, needlework raised fewer concerns: they were fine to handle scissors and needles.

"Thread up and express yourselves!" Ms Adams suggested with enthusiasm, handing out embroidery silks and canvas. "Let your imaginations run free!"

Danny saw the look of utter disgust wash over Mr Winton's face and his lips twitched. Unfortunately, Mr Winton saw.

"Something amusing you, Daniel?"

"No, Mr Win-"

"I should hope not. Maybe you think needlework is beneath you."

"_No_, Mr-"

"Then I suggest you wipe that smile off your face and focus on what Ms Adams is teaching you."

Danny bit his lip, turned back round and did his best not to laugh at the intense concentration on Osmond's face as he tried to thread a needle.

* * *

A few weeks later and now that they were moving into the warmer months, the next session was a visit to a farm accompanied by Miss Sellers, the Geography teacher, and of course, Mr Winton.

They all climbed out of the minibus, clutching a sheet of questions and a map of the farm, with his words ringing in their ears.

"You will stay with your study partner. You will not stray from the marked trail. You will behave with respect at all times to the animals and to the people who work here."

Danny looked down at the worksheet and up at his classmates already crowding round the first questions pinned up in front of the pigsty. His nose wrinkled at the smell.

"You want to work backwards?" he asked Osmond. "Might be less of a squeeze."

"OK," Osmond agreed. "Where's the finish, then?"

The finish was in the dairy where they churned milk and made cheese. The young girl in charge was called Sandy and she giggled as Danny smiled at her, gave them the correct answers and a hunk of fresh cheese each.

"That was easy," Osmond beamed as they walked back towards the barn. "Where to next?"

"We need to get to the stables." Danny frowned at the map and then pointed hopefully. "There."

They walked for fifteen minutes in the general direction of where the stables ought to be but the stables were notable by their absence. Danny stopped and squinted again at the map.

"Maybe we ought to be more left," he suggested.

"Uh huh." Osmond wasn't arguing.

"This way." Danny pointed at a field of cows.

Osmond was arguing now. "There are animals," he pointed out nervously. "With horns."

"Yeah." Danny wasn't too sure about that either. He tucked the map and the questionsheet into his back pocket. "We can run. We can run faster than them."

Osmond was still doubtful but he followed Danny over the gate.

"Ready?" Danny asked.

"No," Osmond replied truthfully.

They ran anyway. Full pelt and direct and the cows were startled enough to look up from their grazing and then, to the boys' horror, a few started to follow them, lolloping after this new distraction.

"Quickly!" Osmond shouted as he clambered over the fence at the other side.

Visions of sharp horns and hard hooves close behind him, Danny took no chances and dove headfirst over and into the dirt and mud the other side.

He was laughing as Osmond hauled him upright.

"You think this is funny?" Osmond asked incredulously.

Being chased by cows?

"Little bit," Danny grinned and then stopped as he saw how Osmond was trembling. "Hey, it's OK. We're safe."

Osmond swallowed and gave a quick nod.

"Come on," Danny smiled reassurance. "Let's get back to the others."

They finished the questionsheet and handed it into Miss Sellers as they climbed back on the bus. Mr Winton's arm shot out and blocked the gangway. He ran his eye over Danny's mud-caked clothes and Danny braced himself for the comment.

"If your answers are as sloppy as your dress, I can see that this will be yet another effort that merits a poor grade, Daniel. Take a seat."

A mutinous look suffused Danny's face as he moved past him. He _had_ tried with the questions, mostly because it affected Osmond. He really didn't care about his own grades. Not as far as Mr Winton was concerned.

* * *

"Have you heard?" Karen asked breathlessly as she ran up to Osmond and Danny at recess. "The office was broken into early this morning!"

"What?" Osmond blinked.

"It's true! Alison heard from Jen who was walking by the staff room when all the arguments were going on." Karen's eyes were round. "Mindy says they tried to get into the safe but they couldn't. They just broke open the desk drawers and grabbed the petty cash tin. Janice says there'd only be about fifty dollars in that though."

Osmond blinked again at the bewildering female grapevine.

"Do any of them know who did it?" Danny asked with interest.

Karen shook her head regretfully and then brightened. "But if I hear, I'll come and tell you," she promised.

* * *

It was a fortnight later and no one had been caught. Danny and Osmond had speculated a little like everyone else but there was no evidence and the gossip had died down. School continued as normal.

"_Horse_-riding?" Osmond frowned as they waited for Mr Cahill to walk into the art room.

"Yes, horse-riding," Danny muttered. He hadn't exactly planned on telling Osmond but it was kind of impossible not to let it slip. He caught sight of Osmond's quizzical look. "What?"

"After the cows?"

Danny gave a hurried shrug of the shoulder. "Horses are different."

"Yes, they're bigger and faster," Osmond pointed out.

The conversation died as Mr Cahill arrived, smiling.

"Good afternoon, everyone." He cleared his throat and his voice went up slightly. "Today, I'd like everyone to design a piece inspired by their surname and their family."

Surname. Family. Danny's shoulders sagged. He couldn't think of anything worse. And yet… Maybe there was something after all.

Mr Cahill came round as they were working, murmuring encouragement and advice. Eventually, he reached Osmond and Danny.

"Good use of colour, Osmond," he praised. "Try some drop-shadow to emphasise the letters of _"Forsythe"_ more."

Mr Cahill moved on to Danny.

"You're at a disadvantage," he commented with a smile. "Double-barrelled surname. Lots more letters in it."

Yes. A double-barrelled reminder of a wealthy background and the certainty that riches never guaranteed happiness.

"Lots of syllables," Mr Cahill went on and then almost as an afterthought, "Your family's from the East Coast?"

There was something in the way he said it that made Danny look up at him. Properly look. Mr Cahill held his gaze for a second and then before Danny could answer, his eyes dropped down again to Danny's work.

"It just sounds like it ought to be East Coast," Mr Cahill muttered lamely. He frowned. "What are you drawing?"

In between the letters and, indeed, overwhelming his surname were playing-cards and cakes, pipe smoke and envelopes.

"Stuff I liked about home," Danny said honestly. "_Like_ about home," he corrected himself.

There was a silence and the Mr Cahill made a non-committal noise and moved on to the next table.

Danny stared down at the traces he'd drawn of LuisandMaria. It was getting harder to remember their faces.

* * *

He lay in bed that night, listening to the sounds of Osmond and the others gently snoring, and doing his best to fix every memory in his head. Luis and his pipe, Maria baking, kind words and hugs, cards and stories…

"_In the little village where I grew up – I have told you about my little village, haven't I? There were rich men and there were poor men and my family was very poor. And our neighbours were very poor, too. And their son was my best friend. His name was Felipe."_

Felipe. All the friendship, all the together, all the trust and the love. Danny glanced over at Os. Was this close to what Luis had had? Almost, maybe…? Danny sighed. Not like he had anything to compare it to. He tried to imagine Osmond and him playing tricks together like Luis and Felipe had. Somehow, it was a struggle. Osmond was so much more about the straight and narrow.

Danny smiled. Wasn't as if it made him like Osmond less just because Osmond didn't want to play tricks.

Tricks.

Mr Winton.

Huh. Seemed like Os had been keeping _him _on the straight and narrow too. He had some lost time to make up.

* * *

Danny's spare thinking time was furiously consumed by different ideas, elaborate schemes that ended up with Mr Winton scowling around the classroom, trying in vain to identify the culprit.

Trouble was, Mr Winton was no fool. Added to which, Danny had heard Mack Henry on the subject of other pranks that had gone wrong. For example, Mr Winton had a habit of smacking his hand down hard on the desk to make a point. One day, he'd brought it down on a sheet of paper concealing half a dozen tacks, point upward. There'd been a moment and then Mr Winton had slowly and silently raised his hand, pulled the tacks out one by one and given the whole class double homework.

That was the rub. Mr Winton was likely to take it out on everyone. Which meant it had to be something out of class. Something to do with Mr Winton's office, perhaps. He could fill that with-

"Danny, you want that apple pie?"

Danny blinked and balloons/fire-extinguisher foam/frogs disappeared from his head. Osmond was gesturing across the table at Danny's neglected dessert.

"What's the matter?" Osmond asked. "You've been so quiet."

"Just thinking about stuff," Danny said truthfully. He didn't want to involve Osmond even as a confidant. That way, if the worst came to the worst, Os wouldn't be punished. He pushed his plate towards Osmond. "You want the pie?"

"Tell you who would like it." Osmond jerked his head to the left.

Danny caught sight of Mr Cahill walking past with a well-loaded tray of food. Seemed like Mr Cahill's sister was still staying over.

"Maybe we could get him a hamper or something," he mused and then looked back to find that whilst a hamper might still be possible, the apple pie was no longer an option.

* * *

Danny had ruled out balloons (too time-consuming to inflate unnoticed) and the fire-extinguishers (impossible to transport inconspicuously). He liked the thought of letting fifty frogs loose to cause mayhem but he wasn't too sure where he was going to get the fifty frogs from. Mail order was a possibility but he doubted the package was going to be quiet enough to escape detection when it arrived. Added to which, he was rather worried about the health of the frogs in transit.

It was a Friday lunchtime when he stared down at his tray of food and inspiration struck.

Gaining access to Mr Winton's office was tough. Mr Winton always kept it locked when it was unoccupied and when it _was_ occupied, there was no chance of planting anything. The only saving grace was that it was on the ground floor and had windows that faced outwards: windows that Mr Winton did not bother to close fully if it was a hot day so that his empty office did not become an oven.

Danny did some comprehensive reconnaissance until he knew Mr Winton's timetable of classes better than he knew his own. The best opportunity was going to be on a Tuesday afternoon when Mr Winton had consecutive lessons and he himself was supposed to be on a cross-country run in the school grounds.

He'd deliberately broken his shoe lace on his trainers as he'd tied them and given himself the excuse to run back to the dormitory for a replacement. Instead, Danny ran to the outside of Mr Winton's office and retrieved the brown paper bag he'd left earlier in the bushes beneath the window. Then with an effort, he carefully threw up the window and pulled himself over the windowsill and into the little room, balancing precariously on a three-legged stool before dropping down to the floor.

There weren't many hiding-places to consider. The desk drawers were locked and the bookcases were full, all the spines neatly lined up. Anything added would be immediately visible. Danny examined the floor. Wooden floorboards firmly nailed down. Danny muttered wild reproaches at himself for not carrying out a recce of the _inside_ of the office.

Just as he was resigning himself to climbing out of the window and giving it all up as a bad job, his eye fell on the little fireplace in the corner. It wasn't used – Weston Harkett had long since embraced central heating – and it was boarded up but the grate was still in place.

Danny dropped to his knees and carefully removed the metal grate. There, at last, was the perfect place of concealment. He shook the paper bag and out fell the fat, fresh fish that he had managed to steal from the kitchen at lunchtime. His nose wrinkled. It was already pungent. Give it a little time and the stink of its rotting corpse would permeate the room.

Quickly, he hid the fish, replaced the grate and climbed back out the window, pulling it back down behind him. He dropped the screwed up bag in the nearest trash can and then pulled a new shoe lace out of his pocket and threaded it through his shoe. Danny smiled to himself. He was sure Luis and Felipe would approve.

* * *

The police car parked outside the main steps a few days later was the hot talking point around the classes. Karen, of course, had the full story.

"Mindy says that Julia told her that Audrey heard that some of the teachers had money taken from their purses in the staffroom this morning. The police are interviewing everyone who might have had opportunity."

Huh. Danny had lifted a little money from people at Weston Harkett and redistributed it but he'd never taken so much that people would call the cops.

"Who are they talking to?" Osmond asked.

Karen didn't have every name but it sounded like they'd started with the teachers and moved on to some of the older pupils.

"Who do you think it is?" Osmond wondered aloud as they walked to their next lesson.

Danny thought about the petty cash going missing.

"Someone desperate," he said softly.

Double doors were flung open and nearly sent them both flying. Mr Winton strode through them, his face black as thunder.

"He's in a temper," Osmond muttered. "More than usual, I mean. Do you think he had some money stolen?" He gasped. "Do you think he's the thief?"

Danny considered. The temperature had been up in the 70s for the past week.

"Well, something fishy's definitely going on," Danny smiled.

* * *

The thief wasn't caught but no more money was taken and while the story was not forgotten, the new story was all about the smell in Mr Winton's office.

"Smells like a stinkbomb factory," Mack Henry declared to anyone who'd listen. "Who reckons Winton's hiding a body? Is anyone missing?"

Danny sat in class and looked at the permanently bad temper showing on Mr Winton's face and felt grim satisfaction. Serve Mr Winton right.

The fumigators found the fish or what was left of it. Not that that improved Mr Winton's mood tremendously.

"I will say to you as I am saying to all my pupils," he announced at the start of the lesson, "that if I discover who had the audacity to carry this out, I will be having very strong words with them."

Mr Winton glared around the class and while most of his classmates dropped their heads, Danny met his gaze with blithe confidence. What were they going to do? Fingerprint the remains of the fish? It was all he could do not to grin.

* * *

Spanish gave him further cause to be happy. Dora, the Spanish assistant who took the classes, gave them all a sheet with vocabulary that they might use for going on holiday.

"Let us say together," she instructed and together, they chanted in Spanish, "Is this your suitcase?" "Would you like an ice-cream?" "May I take your photo?"

Photo. Danny caught his breath. He could ask Luis and Maria for a photo. He couldn't wait to get back to his dormitory to write the letter.

* * *

It wasn't his fight. It was stupid and it wasn't his fight except that somehow it was.

Osmond and he were taking a short-cut down a little used corridor when they heard the sobbing and the pleading. They'd both stopped dead and looked at each other.

Danny crept forward to look through the classroom window, Osmond peering over his shoulder.

There were five boys from the top of the school, none of whom Danny really knew and there was a stick coming down on the hands of two crying first-years and before he quite realised what he was doing, Danny was shaking off Osmond's restraining hand and striding in to the middle of the room.

"Let them go," he demanded, his voice ringing out loudly and really, that was about as far as his plan went.

"Who the hell…?"

The bullies looked round, startled and let loose their grip on the two frightened boys who took the opportunity to pull free and bolt from the room.

That seemed like a good idea to Danny. He readied himself to turn and run.

"New blood. His name don't matter," one of them with traces of a faint moustache sneered.

"_Doesn't_ matter," drawled a voice from behind Danny.

Danny span on his heel to see Silas Whittaker, sitting by the door, his hand wedged in an enormous bag of candy. Silas gave the door a lazy kick and it closed, shutting out the hint of freedom.

Then hands grabbed Danny's shoulders and pulled him backwards, struggling in their grasp.

Silas wasn't really part of it, that much was clear. He sat by the door and munched candy and from what Danny could gather, he was doing everyone else's homework. Probably in return for food because that seemed to be the way Silas operated. And the others were just killing time until he'd finished.

"Hold your hands out, new blood," Wannabe-Moustache instructed and when he wouldn't, they'd held him fast and forced his hands out in front of him anyway.

The wood came down hard on his hands, first one and then the other and he hadn't given them the satisfaction of making a noise. He glared at them through the pain. He wouldn't _ever_ give them the satisfaction.

The two first years looked like they had run for the hills. He couldn't count on help from that quarter but the little voice at the back of his head told him that Osmond would surely have done something…

_(…Os hadn't come in the room with him and that made sense because there were too many of them and he was _glad_ Os wasn't there because there were too many of them but Os hadn't come in the room...)_

Os would have gone for someone…

_(…Os didn't like confrontation and that was alright but Os hadn't come in the room…)_

Os would think of something...Os would…

The door was suddenly flung open.

"Cowardly maggots!"

Danny blinked up at his unexpected deliverer. Mr Winton's face was full of cold rage.

"Gibson! Reeves! McKinsey! Hunter! Thomas!" Mr Winton barked the names out. "You will report directly to Principal Beckerling's office and explain why you are there. Do not make me come and look for you."

The boys slouched out of the door and Danny watched Silas move to follow them.

"Is that you, Whittaker?" Mr Winton snapped. He turned round. "I thought so. Any time I hear the distinctive rustle of candy wrappers, I know it's you. You may follow the others."

Silas scowled but he didn't argue. Mr Winton turned his attention to Danny.

"Daniel?" His voice was stiff and unexpectedly gentle. "Let me see your hands."

Unwillingly, Danny held them up for inspection. Mr Winton looked them over and made a _hmmph_ noise.

"Take yourself to the medical room and then go to your dormitory. I will sign you off for the rest of the day."

Danny tried to say _"Thank you"_ but the words stuck in his throat.

Mr Winton gave an abrupt nod. "Osmond is waiting for you outside. I am going to see if my instructions to proceed to the Principal have been followed."

He left and Danny saw Osmond's anxious face appear in the doorway.

"Are you OK?" Osmond came into the room, the words falling out of him. "I'm sorry, Danny, I just froze and then I ran as fast as I could to find someone, honestly I did, and I saw Mr Cahill and started to tell him but he can't have understood because he didn't really listen, he just said he had somewhere to go and then I saw Mr Winton and I didn't want to ask him but there wasn't anyone and I was worried so I told him..." Osmond ran out of breath and gulped in air. "And he came," he finished.

Yes. He had. Danny stared down at the welts on his hand and winced.

"Let's get out of here, Os," he said.

* * *

Danny had gone, on Osmond's insistence, to see the nurse who had exclaimed and put a cold compress on both hands and tutted and fussed over him until eventually he had managed to escape.

Outside the medical room, they ran into Mr Cahill.

"Danny!" Mr Cahill managed to sound pleased and worried and guilty all at once. "Are you alright? Osmond had some story about…"

He tailed off as he glimpsed Danny's hands.

"It wasn't a story," Osmond exclaimed hotly.

"I'm sorry," Mr Cahill said sincerely and Danny wasn't certain whether he was apologising to Osmond, to him or just for the general situation.

"It's OK," Danny said and meant it. Maybe Mr Cahill wasn't into confrontations either.

"Yes. Well." Mr Cahill cleared his throat. "Well, run along."

"Mr Winton listened," Osmond said, the anger still loud in his voice.

"Os…" Danny pulled him away and they left Mr Cahill open-mouthed.

* * *

Mr Winton _had_ listened and that meant that there was something Danny needed to do. He was stood hesitantly in the doorway of Mr Winton's office, where Mr Winton sat at his desk, head bent over a set of papers. There was no residual smell of fish which was something.

Mr Winton looked up.

"Daniel?" His voice wasn't welcoming. It wasn't hostile either.

Danny opened and closed his mouth. He was reminded of visiting his father in his study.

"What is it?" The impatience flavoured Mr Winton's voice.

Danny took a deep breath and walked up to Mr Winton's desk.

"I wanted to thank you. For earlier. And…" Danny resisted the urge to look at the fireplace: he was grateful but he wasn't stupid. He took another deep breath, "I wanted to say I know I haven't done the best in your lessons. I will do better."

Mr Winton looked at him for a long moment and then glanced down at Danny's hands.

"Gibson and the others are particularly repellent creatures. Symptomatic of society's sad decline. If values cannot be driven into a child in the home then school needs to be the parent. In my day, I'd have beaten the nonsense out of those boys. As it is, they will probably receive counselling."

The last word was flavoured with loathing. Mr Winton gave Danny's hands another glance.

"Try soaking them. It'll help."

There was a note of dismissal in there but still Danny stood there even though he wasn't quite sure why. Mr Winton stared at Danny thoughtfully and then reached back and pulled a book off the shelf behind him.

"To date, Daniel, I have your overall grade for the year as an F. If you are serious about improvement, then I am willing to set you some additional assignments."

He placed the book on the desk in front of Danny.

"This is an account of one of the cleverest use of tactics in warfare. I want you to analyse and summarise the outcomes."

Danny looked at the title. "_Fabius Maximus Cunctator,_" he said wonderingly. "The man who beat Hannibal?"

Mr Winton raised an eyebrow. "You've heard of him?"

Danny nodded. Mark, his tutor, had told him the stories.

Mr Winton made a non-committal noise that might just have been surprise. "In that case, I look forward to a well-written assignment."

Carefully, Danny picked up the book. "I'll do my best, sir."

He did. And he made up his mind to apply himself in class in a way he hadn't tried before.

Danny had his first chance a few days later as they all sat at their desks and Mr Winton handed out sheets of paper.

"These are magic squares containing the numbers 1-16," Mr Winton stated. "Columns, rows and diagonals add up to 34. Some numbers are already entered. You need to complete them. You have twenty minutes. Begin."

"Math," Osmond said with a sigh.

Except it wasn't. Not completely. Danny stared at the grids. It was logic and patterns and common sense and-

His extra assignment was dropped down on the desk beside him.

"Tolerable, Daniel," Mr Winton commented. "Tolerable. Little too much sympathy for the elephants."

Danny stared at the "B-" written on the top of the paper and his mouth curved into a smile.

* * *

There were other books and other assignments and Danny's grades never dipped below the first B- and on one heady occasion, he had achieved an A. Danny found himself looking forward to the homework: it was significantly more challenging and enjoyable than anything else he was doing.

Mr Cahill caught up with Danny on his way to Mr Winton's office to return the latest book he'd lent him.

"Are you OK to go out shopping tomorrow?" Mr Cahill asked.

He'd pretty much avoided Danny since the incident with the older boys and he wasn't really meeting Danny's gaze now. Danny didn't blame him any more than he blamed Osmond but it seemed as if Mr Cahill was blaming himself.

Danny gave a bright smile. "Sure. That'd be great."

"Good." Mr Cahill sounded distracted. "Good. We'll leave at two o'clock."

He walked away and Danny went on to find Mr Winton who beckoned him into his office.

"Thank you, Daniel." Mr Winton inspected the returned book as he always did, checking for damage that wasn't there. "Take a seat."

Danny pulled the three legged-stool forward.

Mr Winton seemed unusually hesitant and when he did speak it was slowly and precisely, choosing his words with care.

"Your initial appearance, Daniel, was slapdash and messy and I took that to be representative of your outlook on learning. Your subsequent contribution to my class did nothing to change my opinion of your attitude."

Childishly, Danny wanted to point out that Mr Winton had started it. His jaw set defiantly. Mr Winton wasn't finished though. He cleared his throat.

"It is possible that I may have formed the wrong opinion of you, Daniel. You have done well in class of late and your last few efforts of homework have been above average."

That sounded like…that sounded awfully like an…

Mr Winton cleared his throat again. "Providing you do not slip back into your former habits, your end of year grade will reflect your current attitude. I wanted to make that clear. You may run along."

"Yes, Mr Winton."

Danny fought to control the grin. Oh, it was satisfying to have improved his grade but it was even more satisfying to have that apology.

* * *

Mr Cahill owned a small Japanese car and he was waiting beside it as Danny walked across the car park the following afternoon.

"Danny."

Mr Cahill sounded relieved and Danny frowned. He wasn't late, was he?

"Mr Cahill!"

A familiar voice rang out behind Danny and he turned to see Mr Winton approaching.

"They tell me in the staffroom that you are headed into town. I would like to beg a lift with you if I may. I have some business at the bank and it's pointless taking two cars."

Mr Cahill's mouth opened and closed twice and Danny guessed that Mr Winton wasn't top of Mr Cahill's list to make conversation with. A pity, really, that Mr Winton didn't make things easier or that Mr Cahill wasn't a little braver: Danny thought that they might actually get along.

Mr Winton was waiting for an answer that still wasn't coming. Danny broke the silence before it could grow any more awkward.

"I'll sit in the back, shall I, Mr Cahill?"

"Yes," Mr Cahill said and Danny doubted he could fit any more resignation in the word.

Danny clambered in behind the driver's seat and the two teachers got in and closed the doors.

The journey was silent. Danny thought about trying to start a conversation but neither Mr Winton nor Mr Cahill looked like they were in the mood. In fact, the only time that Mr Winton spoke was when they made the turn on to a back road.

"Shouldn't we be taking the freeway?"

"It's busy this time of day," Mr Cahill explained. "This is a little longer but it's quicker."

The road definitely had less traffic on it. They passed maybe two cars and a van in ten minutes. And then Mr Cahill slowed up and Danny could see why. There was a van parked on the side of the road and a young woman flagging him down.

"Really!" Mr Winton muttered in annoyance.

The woman came running up to the driver's window which Mr Cahill wound down.

"Please can you help? We got engine troubles!"

"Sure," Mr Cahill said and started to get out of the car but Mr Winton grabbed his arm.

"What do you know about vehicle maintenance, Cahill? This is just going to delay us."

"I'm going to help," Mr Cahill insisted, pulling free and climbing out the car.

Mr Winton made a snorting noise of disapproval as Mr Cahill disappeared out of view. The young woman lingered, resting her arms on the open window.

"You out on a trip?" she smiled at Danny. "Why don't you get out and stretch your legs?"

"The boy's fine where he is," Mr Winton said curtly.

"Nice sunny day," the woman smiled again at Danny. "Maybe you want to get a little air."

"I said he's fine," Mr Winton told her and Danny could hear the irritation in his voice.

"Just making conversation," the woman said sulkily.

A large man in overalls ambled up behind her and pulled her out of the way.

"Get out of the car, kid," he rumbled.

Danny frowned. "I'm OK," he said before Mr Winton could.

The man's face grew darker and he yanked the car door open. He pushed the seat forward, reached into the back and grabbed Danny's wrist, pulling him bodily out of the car. Danny let out a yelp of surprise and struggled to free himself but the man's grip was like iron.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mr Winton was roaring and Mr Cahill was coming running and the woman was yelling and the man wasn't letting _go _and then Mr Winton was out of the car and the man had a long piece of metal and it was pushed against Danny's throat. Both Mr Winton and Mr Cahill stopped dead.

"Put the crowbar down." Mr Winton sounded anxious.

"Please," Mr Cahill pleaded. "Don't harm him."

"Don't be an idiot, Michael!" the woman snapped and Danny wished that Michael would just listen and let go of him. "We're not going to hurt him. He's our meal ticket,"

_Meal ticket?_

It was enough to make Danny stop squirming against the hard metal pressed against his neck and to try to look up at Michael but it was impossible.

And then he saw the way Mr Winton was staring at Mr Cahill and the way Mr Cahill was staring at the woman and none of that made any sense unless…

"I said not to use my name," Mr Cahill hissed.

"The kid doesn't know it," the woman hissed back.

"No, but- Harvey!"

The man holding Danny suddenly lunged with the crowbar and Mr Winton collapsed to the ground, a long red gash on the side of his head.

"You _idiot!"_

"We're wasting time," the man – Harvey - muttered.

Harvey. Danny's eyes flicked to the woman. That made her…

"Get the van doors open, Dana."

Harvey and Dana. And Mr Cahill…?

Dana pushed a roll of duct tape at Mr Cahill.

"Tape the kid up, Michael and we'll get them both in the van. Then you can follow us in the car."

"For heaven's sake, Dana, I'm supposed to go back to the school to raise the alarm."

"Bringing along that friend of yours has kind of screwed that up, don't you think?"

"Come on, Dana," Harvey rumbled. "Let's get going."

Mr Cahill looked helplessly between the two of them.

"Just drive the damn car, Michael."

There was tape in Mr Cahill's hands and there was apology in his eyes and all Danny could offer in return was bewilderment.

* * *

Mr Cahill had taped Danny's hands together behind his back and put another piece over his mouth. Then Harvey had picked him up, kicking and struggling – picked him up like he was no weight at all and dropped him down inside the back of the van. Mr Winton's unconscious body was heaved in after him and Danny shot him an anxious glance as the door slammed shut. Didn't look like he was coming round any time soon. There was the sound of footsteps and then the sounds of doors opening and shutting at the front of the van. Danny didn't have time to brace himself before the vehicle took off.

The journey seemed to last forever. It seemed that every time Danny kneeled upright, the van skewed round a corner: he couldn't keep his balance and gave up trying, settling instead for a half-sitting position, leaning against the side of the van when he could. Mr Winton, still out for the count, rolled in an undignified manner. There was nothing Danny could do to help him and he winced as the older man was bumped and bruised.

Eventually, the van came to a halt. The doors were yanked open and Harvey reached in and grabbed Danny. Danny glimpsed a street and a house before he was bundled inside, down a hallway and into a kitchen and deposited on to a chair. He struggled furiously but Harvey held him fast as Dana picked up a kitchen knife, split his bonds and then secured his wrists and ankles with more tape to the frame of the chair. She was panting hard by the time she'd finished and she scowled at Danny who returned the glare.

"For a little kid, he's a heap of trouble. Go and get the other," she instructed. "Help him, Michael."

Danny raised his gaze and saw Mr Cahill standing awkwardly by the door, his eyes troubled.

"Michael!" Dana snapped and Mr Cahill jumped and followed Harvey out of the room.

Dana pulled up a chair and sat opposite Danny. She smiled.

"Can't blame you for putting up a fight, kid. Suppose I'd do the same. You just keep your head down and co-operate and this'll all be over before you know it."

All _what_ would be over? Danny still didn't understand what they wanted from him.

"You know, Michael's always been one for keeping secrets to himself," Dana said conversationally. "Number of times our older brothers used to have to sit on him to make him tell where his stash of candy was…"

She shook her head and laughed.

"We've been staying here since Christmas and he didn't mention for at least two months that he was teaching fucking royalty."

"Language, Dana!"

Mr Cahill and Harvey reappeared, manhandling Mr Winton into the room and taping him to another of the kitchen chairs. Danny stared anxiously at Mr Winton. He was breathing steadily and the wound on his head had stopped bleeding at least but his eyes were still closed and his face was pale.

"Oh, Michael… Kid's heard worse, haven't you?" Dana grinned at Danny. "As I was saying, Michael kept you a _big_ secret. I remember him coming home and telling me all about this kid with the money and the tutor and when I heard your surname, I just had to dig out the magazine I'd been reading. Here. I still got it."

She picked up a dog-eared magazine off the kitchen table and flicked it open to a society page. She jabbed a finger at a photo.

"See?"

Danny stared at the photograph. A society do with women in long frocks and men in black tie. His eyes widened as he saw Randall standing awkwardly, clutching a champagne glass alongside Cole who was looking thoroughly bored as a giggling blonde draped herself over him. Underneath the picture, both men were named "enjoying themselves with a good friend".

Dana nodded.

"I _knew_ you had to be related. Cole and Randall, right? Michael said they were your brothers."

_Half-_brothers.

"I told Michael then and there that you were the answer to our problems but he kept on stalling. Kept promising he'd find another way to find the money. I kept telling him we had the perfect answer already."

The thefts. Danny could see it in an instant. Mr Cahill trying to appease his sister and Dana wearing him down with a hundred different arguments. And all this was about his allowance? He would have given the money to Mr Cahill if he'd known.

"What next, Dana?" Harvey asked. "You think we should call the school? Or send a note?"

Dana stood up and opened up the refrigerator, pulling out a bucket of beers.

"I think we should sit down with a beer in the front room and talk about it. Come on, guys."

Harvey grinned at Danny. "Don't you go anywhere."

The three of them left the kitchen. Mr Cahill didn't look at Danny once.

* * *

Danny already knew the tape would be impossible to escape from but he still set about testing each of the bonds in turn. Yeah. There was no give. He looked around the kitchen in search of something that might help and saw the knife that Dana had used, discarded on the kitchen table. Maybe he could-

A muffled moan from Mr Winton interrupted his thoughts. Danny saw him open his eyes, blinking heavily. There was disorientation and then Mr Winton saw _him_ and the confusion melted into a sharp focus.

_Are you alright? _Mr Winton's eyes were asking him.

Danny nodded. They hadn't hit him, after all. He asked the question right back at Mr Winton who gave him a curt nod.

The door opened and Harvey came back in with the bucket, heading straight for the refrigerator and digging out more beers. At once, Mr Winton started a stifled protest of indignation and outrage, rocking his chair against the floor. Harvey turned round, an ugly scowl on his face. Danny caught his breath as Harvey strode across the kitchen, dropping the bucket on the table.

"We're still working out what to do with you," he growled, leaning over Mr Winton. "So keep quiet or I'll _make_ you."

Danny saw Mr Winton glaring defiantly and Harvey's hand clenched in a fist, ready to punch, the aggression rolling off him. Immediately, he started rocking his own chair, sending up muted cries.

"Shut up, you little brat!" Harvey snarled, twisting round and covering the distance in a couple of strides. His left hand shot out and grabbed Danny's clothes, lifting Danny off the floor, chair and all. His right hand was raised and Danny was bracing himself and then-

"Harvey, stop!" Mr Cahill was there, holding on to Harvey's arm. "Stop!"

"He was kicking off," Harvey muttered sullenly, dropping Danny and shaking loose from Mr Cahill.

"It's OK, it's fine, I'll speak to him," Mr Cahill soothed. "Take the beers in and I'll bring some chips. Go on. I'll sort it."

Harvey shot Danny a dirty look, grabbed the bucket of beers and left.

"Are you alright?" Mr Cahill asked anxiously as soon as Harvey was gone.

Danny raised his eyebrows. Was that a serious question?

"You've got to be quiet," Mr Cahill said with a hint of pleading in his voice. "Harvey'll just…please." He looked from Danny to Mr Winton. "Both of you. Please."

Mr Winton's face was fierce, demanding answers. Mr Cahill hesitated and then his shoulders sagged and he slumped down in the chair opposite Danny.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He dragged his fingers down over his face. "Somehow they ended up moving in and they just wouldn't _leave._ They said they needed cash and I gave them all I had and I tried to get more but it still wasn't enough."

Mr Cahill looked at him miserably. "Dana comes up with crazy ideas sometimes. She kept on and on…"

A flicker of sympathy came into Danny's eyes and Mr Cahill gave him a weak smile. He hesitated.

"If I take this tape off your mouth, do you promise not to make a noise? If you make a noise, Harvey will come back. No noise, right?"

Danny nodded and Mr Cahill carefully peeled the tape away. Danny licked his lips. They felt dry and sore.

"I'll get you some water." Mr Cahill got to his feet.

"For Mr Winton too," Danny said hoarsely.

"OK," Mr Cahill agreed. He brought over a glass of water and let Danny take a long drink.

"It was all meant to be so simple," Mr Cahill sighed, refilling the glass and taking it to Mr Winton.

"I suppose I get the blame for making it complicated," Mr Winton snapped as soon as his mouth was free.

"It was just supposed to be me and Danny in the car," Mr Cahill said, tipping the glass to his lips and letting Mr Winton drink before resealing the tape. "They were going to bring Danny back here and I was going to tell the school so that they could inform the family. That way when the ransom demand was made-"

"Ransom?" Danny interrupted.

"Well, yes," Mr Cahill said, walking back round. "We'll ask your brothers-"

"They don't care!" The words were ripped from Danny.

"What?" Mr Cahill said faintly. "Of course they do. They must. They're your brothers."

Half-brothers. Like that made a difference. Like that had ever made a difference. All the looks and the snide remarks and the… Danny could feel the anger rising in him.

"They've _never _cared about me. Ever."

Mr Cahill had a sickly look on his face. "Your mother…"

Danny's chin lifted. "I wouldn't hold your breath."

"No. No, no, no." Mr Cahill was shaking his head. "You come from a rich family and family sticks together and they will pay to set you free."

Danny made a noise that was between a snort and a sob. Tears were filling his eyes and he blinked hard.

"You think they sent me to the other side of the country because they want anything to do with me?" Danny's voice grew louder. "They don't give a damn!"

"Shh!" Mr Cahill looked frantically at the door. "Shh!"

"They won't give you a dime! They'd be happy if I just disappeared forever!"

"Be quiet!" Mr Cahill hissed, lunging forward and sticking the tape back in place.

"Michael?" Dana was in the doorway. "We got a problem here?"

Danny stared unblinkingly at Mr Cahill, all the hurt of so many years welling up inside him, all the things he could never – _would _never say out loud, all the things he told himself didn't matter.

Mr Cahill's gaze faltered. "No, Dana. No problem at all."

Thoughtfully, Dana walked further into the kitchen and picked up the kitchen knife from the table then pushed her brother aside and crouched down in front of Danny, looking him in the eye and holding the knife just a few inches from his face. She ran a casual finger over the blade.

"You hear about the Getty kidnapping last year?"

Danny could only focus on the light glinting off the metal.

"You deaf, boy?"

With difficulty, he looked up at Dana who was waiting for an answer. He nodded.

"They got sent an ear," she said conversationally. "Think about it."

Danny glared at her as she straightened up, opened a drawer and dropped the knife inside.

"Come on, Michael. We've got a note to write."

Dana left the room and Mr Cahill cast a troubled look at Danny and trailed after her

* * *

There'd been more trips to replenish the beers from Dana or Harvey. Neither of them gave Danny a second glance.

There was no clock in the kitchen and the light through the kitchen window was growing darker: Danny could only guess how long they'd been sitting there but it had to be heading into evening. Surely someone was missing them by now. Osmond would be wondering, wouldn't he? What about the classes that Mr Winton and Mr Cahill were supposed to be teaching? He looked over for the nth time at Mr Winton. Ridiculously, he felt guilty for Mr Winton being involved. It was him they wanted.

All Danny could think of was how misguided this whole scheme was. There was no way anyone would hand money over for his safe return. He thought about Cole's words last summer at the trustee review meeting.

"_It's not going to be Randall and it's never going to be your mother so you've got me."_

Well, Cole certainly wouldn't rescue him. Danny felt the dull resignation wash over him. What a mess. What an absolute-

"Danny?"

Mr Cahill stood there in the half-light. He spoke rapidly, his voice low and agitated.

"I've persuaded Dana to go out for takeout. Harvey's drunk more beer than he should have." He hesitated. "What you said…you meant it, didn't you."

It wasn't a question Danny needed to clarify. It wasn't a question Danny needed to answer.

Mr Cahill nodded to himself. "I'm…I'm going to end this."

He found the knife and set them both free.

"This is the first sensible thing you've done all day," Mr Winton said sharply as he got unsteadily to his feet.

"Thank you," Danny said quietly.

"My car's out front. I'll take you back to Weston Harkett. Quickly. And don't make any noise. Harvey might wake up."

They made it outside without interruption from Harvey whose loud snores could be heard resonating from the front room. As they walked up to the car, Mr Winton pulled the keys from Mr Cahill's fingers.

"I'll drive," he said shortly and Mr Cahill didn't argue.

Danny climbed quickly into the back seat and let out a silent sigh of relief as the front doors shut and they pulled away.

As the scenery flashed by, Mr Cahill started talking.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It's been a nightmare, these past few months. Just a complete nightmare. Every time I came home from work, they were at me. They wouldn't stop."

Danny could imagine the relentless verbal bludgeoning. And Mr Cahill didn't like confrontation.

"They made it all seem so simple. Take the boy away for a few days, give him a holiday and then his family will pay up and we leave the kid somewhere public and we'll be on easy street."

Mr Winton snorted. Mr Cahill sighed and carried on as if he hadn't heard him.

"_They'd_ be on easy street. They'd be far away and I wouldn't have to see them again. To be honest, that's kind of…"

He broke off.

"This isn't the way to the school. Where are we…what…"

The car pulled to a halt outside the police station. Mr Winton turned and looked at Mr Cahill.

"We are going to go inside and we are going to tell them what you, your sister and her brute of a boyfriend did."

"No!" Mr Cahill looked shocked. "No, I _helped_ you escape! Harvey said we only needed the boy – he wanted to kill you!"

Mr Winton was inexorable. "You're going to confess everything, Michael. And then you're going to deal with the consequences."

"I... but I didn't…I _had_ to…I…I…" Mr Cahill scrambled round in his seat, grabbing at Danny's arm. "Danny!"

"Don't you _dare!" _Mr Winton's eyes were flashing.

"Mr Cahill-"

"Say nothing to him, Daniel. He doesn't deserve it."

Danny looked at the desperation in Mr Cahill's eyes and then down at the hand on his arm. He covered it with his own hand.

"I'll explain," he promised.

* * *

He didn't see Mr Cahill again. There had been questions and interviews and he and Mr Winton had been taken to the hospital despite Danny's insistence that there was nothing wrong with _him._

There was a short interval of sandwiches and soda and then more policemen – agents - had arrived and there were more interviews. Mr Winton had stayed beside him throughout and Danny did his best but he wasn't certain that they understood how it had been for Mr Cahill. All he got from one of the officers was that it would be looked on favourably that he'd freed them.

After that, at some point close to dawn, Mr Winton had been taken home and Danny had been brought back to Weston Harkett where Mr Nash, the Housemaster, had clucked over him and taken him up to a private bedroom. _"Don't let's disturb the others. You can catch up with Osmond tomorrow."_

Fully clothed and exhausted, Danny'd fallen into his bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

He woke to warm sunlight falling across the room and Mr Nash bringing him a hot chocolate. Danny sat up in bed and accepted the drink gratefully.

"How are you feeling?"

Tired. Bewildered. Deeply desirous of everything getting back to normal.

"I'm OK."

Mr Nash smiled a gentle smile and it reminded Danny of Mr Cahill and it _hurt._

"Someone wants to see you."

He opened the door and made a beckoning gesture. Osmond appeared clutching a change of clothes. Danny's face lit up in a bright grin.

"Hello," Osmond beamed.

"Hi," Danny smiled.

"I brought you clothes," Osmond said unnecessarily.

"Thanks."

There were a hundred different questions burning in Osmond's eyes that he couldn't or wouldn't ask in front of Mr Nash. Danny tried to offer up reassurance and the promise that he'd tell him what had happened later. In truth, he already knew he was going to play everything down. It was over. No need to go into details.

"Get yourself freshened up, Danny, and then come down to the Principal's office," Mr Nash instructed. "You can meet up with Osmond again for dinner."

Dinner sounded good. He was suddenly aware of how hungry he was. Then his brain caught up. Dinner? How long had he slept?

The confusion must have shown on his face because Mr Nash added gently, "It's nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, Danny."

Danny blinked.

"Come along, Osmond."

"See you later, Danny." Osmond stood up reluctantly.

"See you," Danny said absent-mindedly. Five o'clock in the afternoon?

* * *

Danny was ushered into Principal Beckerling's office where the Principal came hurrying round from the other side of his desk, making soothing noises of comfort. Danny's eyes were on the man with his back to him, staring out of the window. Slowly, Cole twisted round, his face, cold and distant as ever.

"You can leave now," Cole said.

"Of course, of course," Principal Beckerling agreed hastily. He gave Danny's arm a squeeze. "We're so glad that you're back safely. Nothing like this has _ever_ happened before. I can assure you that we pride ourselves on-"

"_Now."_

"Of course," Principal Beckerling said again and hurried out of the door.

Danny watched him go and then turned back round, trying to manage the apprehension he felt at being left alone with Cole. There was silence as they stared at each other with mutual loathing and then Cole walked forward and sat on the edge of the Principal's desk, fingers loosely clasped in front of him.

"I was woken from a particularly pleasant dream by a phone call from Lawrenson informing me that the FBI were on their way to collect me because my father's runt has managed to get himself abducted." Cole smiled nastily. "For one glorious moment I thought you might actually be out of my life for good."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Danny retorted stonily.

"They said you managed to escape. I should have known it was too good to be true. The Feds dragged me on to a plane. They seemed to think it was important I came out here even though it was all over."

He stood up and moved closer to Danny who stood his ground.

"I just want to make it quite clear that if you are stupid enough to shoot your mouth off about the money this family has-"

"I said nothing!" Danny interrupted hotly but Cole ignored him.

"-and someone thinks they can take advantage of that, of _me_, then you will find out the hard way exactly how much I will pay to get you back again."

"I know already," Danny snapped. "You think I didn't tell them that? That's why they let me go."

Cole's mouth tightened. "Pity."

Danny glared at him. Cole smiled without the smile reaching his eyes.

"You know the only good thing about this charade is that Beckerling's agreed to a substantial reduction in your fees for this year and moving forward. Maybe you should get yourself kidnapped more often."

Danny couldn't stop the little hiss of anger escaping him and bit his lip, angry at himself. He _knew _what Cole thought of him. He'd always known. Why should hearing what he already knew be such a shock?

"I'm out of here," Cole announced. "It's a week or so till the school breaks for summer. I'll tell Lawrenson that he doesn't need to drag me back down here for a ridiculous review. He can check your grades over the phone. With any luck, I won't have to see you again for a year."

"Suits me."

The door closed behind Cole and Danny's shoulders sagged. Dealing with Cole never got any easier.

* * *

Osmond sat at dinner and asked his hundred questions and Danny deflected them – no big deal, some sort of domestic argument between Mr Cahill and his sister and her boyfriend that he and Mr Winton'd got caught up in. Osmond looked disappointed but quickly moved on to the rest of the unofficial news provided by Karen.

Mr Winton had been given the rest of the semester off. Danny thought that was doubtless the Principal's equivalent of reducing school fees.

Mr Cahill was apparently indisposed and not likely to return any time soon.

And in more important news, Mack Henry's illegal guinea pig racing ring had been discovered. Mostly because Wally Rybeck had inadvertently left the cage door open and a drama lesson had been interrupted by furry diversion.

Danny listened and smiled and the events of the previous day seemed light years away.

* * *

He'd left dinner early and come up to the dormitory alone. The letter was waiting on his bed and Danny snatched it up, his fingers fumbling in their haste to open the envelope. Inside, there were words of the everyday and the normal and Danny's eyes barely took them in because a small colour photo fell out into his hands.

Luis and Maria smiling up at him. Taken at an official portrait studio with both of them in their best clothes, Maria sitting upright in a chair and Luis standing ramrod straight behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

The photo became blurry and Danny blinked furiously.

It wasn't how he remembered them - no pipe clenched in Luis's teeth, no apron for Maria, all floury from baking – but it didn't matter. Luis and Maria. Oh, God, Luis and Maria. More than anything, right now, he wanted cookies and milk and cards and stories; he wanted things back the way they used to be. He...he...

Danny took a deep breath. He was being stupid. Things were never going back to the way they were. His fingers tightened on the picture, now easily his most precious possession.


End file.
